coronetcast

[coronetcast]

Codex II: Bad Dreams

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fingering, wet dreams, Din being a smug ass, dirty talk (?)

She was watching him pace with far too much amusement. She settled back in her bed (her own for once), Bean asleep against her chest. The Mandalorian, across their shared lodgings for the night, went back and forth between his gear - sorting and arranging. 

He never removed his beskar when they were off the Crest, not even to sleep. She suspected that he was always waiting for an attack, a silent vibroblade in the dark. Yet, something told her that wasn’t the reason for his unease. 

The city shimmered brilliant white, domed white gates bouncing the sun rays. Chloe had seen cities like this, outer rim settlements on the cusp of prosperity and riddled with new-found bureaucracy. It was enough to make her not glance down every alley she passed by. For once, their chase for a bounty led them somewhere respectable.

Although she hadn’t counted on the New Republic’s presence. 

Or a checkpoint to get into the city. 

From their place in line, she could see the officers scanning everyone who entered the city, chain codes flashing on their screen. The officers were clipped, barking for people to move along. Beside her, the beskar wall went taut. 

“Don’t.” Chloe warned, eyes scanning the officers. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You don’t have to.” She hissed. “I can feel it.” 

Din’s silence was confirmation enough. 

As they neared the officers, the Child gave a curious coo from his pram. Chloe’s eyes lit up, an idea forming. 

The guard waved them forward. 

“Papers?” The officer drawled, barely looking up from his scanner. “Chain codes for both of you.” 

Din froze, hand twitching at his belt. 

Before he could say anything, Chloe surged forward. She hugged Dins arm, purposefully squeezing her cheek against the beskar pauldron and shooting the officer a baleful look. 

“Didn’t I tell you my love? They’re all the same!” She exclaimed, causing the officer to look up. 

“M’am?” 

“I want the comm code for your supervisor immediately.” She continued, feigning anger. “Everywhere my husband and I have travelled we have been harassed as if we were common criminals!” 

The officer seemed shocked, unable to make sense of what was going on. Din seemed to be equally confused. 

“Just because my husband is a Mandalorian you assume he’s a bounty hunter?? That sir is profiling!” She had now placed her hand on her hips. “I mean seriously? Do I look dangerous to you, we are simply trying to enjoy a holiday with our toddler and you people seem hell bent on ruining it!” 

“M’am we were simply-” 

“Do you know how sleep deprived we are? Have you had to do inter-system travel with a baby? This is absolutely outrageous!” 

Chloe was grateful for the officer interrupting, she feared she was having too much fun in the role. 

“Our apologies M’am… Sir uh- you may proceed.” 

“If you pace anymore, you’re going to go through the floor.” She commented, absentmindedly stroking the Child’s ear. “You should be more like the kid.” 

That got Din to pause, helmet turning to analyse the Child’s sleeping form. 

“He seems comfortable.” Din muttered. Chloe snorted softly, eyes twinkling as she smirked. 

“You can’t always be the favourite.” She teased. 

“I feed him.” Din replied dryly. 

“Yeah but I’m clearly more comfy.” Din regarded her answer for a moment, before going back to his pacing. She sighed, dramatically.

“Care to tell me why you have your wires all in a twist?” Chloe probed. 

Din paced around the room, checking windows and dark spaces. His blasters lay on the table, to which he periodically visited to fiddle with the guns before leaving them again. 

“It is about the checkpoint?” She asked, getting impatient. 

He froze. 

Bingo. 

“You didn’t consult with me.” Din answered, voice husky. She raised an eyebrow, unsure how to react. 

“I improvised Din, it wasn’t like I had much time to get you in the know. Besides, it worked.” She shrugged, careful not to wake Bean. 

He was still stiff, helmet tilted slightly to her but not daring to look at her all the way. 

“You said you were my wife .” His voice was barely loud enough for her to hear. 

She prickled instantly, wanting to deliver a snappy wise-crack. But, Obi-Wan's reminder of gentleness and tact came back to her. 

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Chloe delivered gently. “It’s just all I could think of at the time, but in my defense you didn’t deny it.” 

“You said it like you meant it,” he muttered, almost accusingly.

Chloe blinked, confused for half a second before it clicked. She bit back a smile. “I did mean it—in the moment. That’s the whole point of acting.”

Din shifted his weight. Arms crossed now. Classic defense posture. “You didn’t have to sell it that hard.”

Her brow arched. “You mean I shouldn’t have called you my loving, exhausted husband on the verge of a nervous breakdown?”

He made a sound — somewhere between a grunt and a cough. “Exactly.”

Chloe, emboldened by the way he was very much not looking directly at her, pushed just a little. “You’re mad because I was convincing?”

“I’m not mad.” He snapped too fast. Too defensive.

She grinned. “Maker, you are. You’re mad I was too good at pretending to be your wife.”

“I’m not—” He stopped, hands dropping to his sides, helmet angled vaguely in her direction but just shy of facing her. “You just… surprised me.”

That sobered her a little. “Because I lied?”

“Because it didn’t feel like one.”

Oh.

There it was — the thing he couldn’t quite name yet, couldn’t wrestle down into something tidy. Din Djarin, overwhelmed not by her recklessness, but by how easy it was to imagine something he’d never let himself want.

Chloe’s voice softened, teasing edge gone. “It worked, Din. I didn’t mean to throw you off.”

“You didn’t,” he said quickly. Then, quieter, “You just… looked like you belonged there.”

Another beat. Chloe swallowed. “So did you.”

Din stilled, his hands curling slowly at his sides. She didn’t know if he was trying to rein something in or hold something back.

Finally, he turned halfway toward her and muttered, almost under his breath:

“You still sold it too well.”

She smirked. “Are you scolding me or flirting with me?”

Silence.

Chloe gave a slow, pleased grin. “That’s what I thought.”

Sleep came slowly. Chloe drifted off with Bean curled against her side and the feel of Din’s voice still haunting the air — you looked like you belonged there.

But in her dreams, the space shifted.

They were back on the Razor Crest, or so she assumed. Her blindfold was on, all she could feel was the soft slide of the bunk’s mattress and him. 

Din’s hands were on her, much like her last dream. Only this time, he was completely bare. His warm chest pressed flush against her back, and his fingers were buried deep inside her, working her open with steady, relentless care.

“C’mon, cyar’ika,” Din murmured, voice stripped bare. “Know you can take me.”

The heat built inside her fast, every curl of his fingers sending shockwaves up her spine. It was overwhelming — almost unbearable — and she craved more.

“Din—” she mewled, hands roaming down the length of his thigh before digging her nails into the muscle. “Please, fuck, need you, please—”

“What more do you need, sweet girl?” Din teased, voice silk and smoke, his rhythm intensifying as he wrecked her dripping center. She whined loudly, unabashedly chasing the high his ministrations were eliciting. 

“Fuck, Din- so close please just-” 

She shot upright in bed, breath ragged, skin overheated, pulse thundering in her ears. Bean let out a soft coo in protest from beside her but didn’t stir fully.

Moonlight crept across the floor in pale bands — and Din was already sitting at the foot of her bed.

Still. Quiet. Watching.

She nearly yelped.

“Kriffing hells Din!” She hissed, careful to keep her voice down. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

He didn’t say anything. Just tilted his helmet.

Then, calmly:

“Please.. Fuck..” 

Chloe choked on the air. “Excuse me?” 

“You were talking in your sleep.” He remained still, passing for a statue. 

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…

“I must have been having a bad dream.” She responded too quickly. “Probably dreaming about a blaster jam or something.” 

She prayed he would drop it, that he shrug and go back to his own bed. It would appear she had no such luck as he continued quoting her dream back to her. 

“You said my name again.” that one sentence struck her like a lightning bolt. 

“Well, it’s not a stretch to — uh, for you, I mean — to be in danger in my dreams.” She mentally slapped herself for how shaky her voice sounded. He still kept his gaze fixed on her, she imagined she looked like a deer in headlights. 

“Yeah?” He probed. “What kind of danger?” 

Oh just let me die!

“I don’t know? Why does it matter right now?” She snapped. 

There was a beat of silence, the helmet's gaze still pinning her in place. The only sound filling the room was Bean’s soft breaths. Then Din broke the silence in the worst way possible. 

“Fuck, Din - so close, please-” 

She resisted every urge to bury her face in her hands. The sound of her words of pleasure being repeated back to her in Din’s deadpan tone, made her skin burn and her mind melt. What cosmic power did she piss off to deserve this? Was this the ghost of the Order haunting her for being rebellious??

“I… uh, remember now. Yeah, you had fallen.” She stuttered. “Off a cliff and I was trying to pull you up but you were, uh, slipping. Yeah, that was it, if I remember correctly.”

“Uh huh.” 

They continued to stare at each other for a few minutes, the entire time she could feel the amusement rolling off of him. Chloe knew he didn’t believe a word of what she was saying, but what exactly was she supposed to say?

Sorry just had a dream about you finger fucking me - which by the way you rudely interrupted before I could c-

Din got up slowly, walking back over to his bed. Her head followed his every move, pulse hammering in her ears. She watched as he laid down on his back, helmet to the ceiling as he spoke finally.

“Next time you’re having a nightmare… maybe try a little less enthusiasm.”

Chloe stood at the console, fidgeting with the diagnostics panel even though it didn’t need calibrating. Since they had lugged the bounty back and froze him in carbonite, she just needed anything to do. The hum of the Crest filled the silence, and she let herself pretend for one blessed minute that Din wasn’t standing just behind her.

That he hadn’t sat at the foot of her bed last night.

That he hadn’t… quoted her.

That she hadn’t all but confessed to dreaming about him in a way that involved very little armor and a lot of frantic pleading.

“Diagnostics panel’s upside down,” Din said behind her, voice low.

She jumped. Again.

“Is there a reason you’re sneaking up on me?” She yelped.

“I walked,” Din replied.

“Well, maybe stomp next time.”

He tilted his helmet. “Didn’t seem to bother you in your dream.”

Her heart stopped. “I told you, it was a nightmare.”

Din crossed his arms. “Hm.”

“Hm what?”

“You sounded…” He paused, like searching for the right word. “Committed.”

“I was trying to pull you off a cliff,” she said too fast.

“Right.” A slight nod. “You said please. A lot.”

She winced. “It was a really steep cliff.”

“And my name.”

Chloe tried not to combust. “I had to shout! For dramatic effect. The stakes were—very high.”

Din was quiet a beat longer than was necessary. Then, with infuriating calm: “You didn’t sound scared.”

Her eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

He tilted his helmet again. “Most people sound panicked in nightmares. You sounded…” His voice dropped, almost thoughtful. “Focused.”

The way Din’s voice lilted on the word “Focused” had her core hot again. She bit back the whimper that threatened to claw its way out of her throat. 

What is wrong with me? 

She leaned back, clutching the panel behind her. Not only was the heat between the unbearable, she didn’t trust herself not to lean in. She had no idea how she was supposed to share the same bunk as him tonight. 

“Wouldn’t you want to be focused in a situation like that?” She countered, grateful her voice didn’t squeak. 

“Hm. Maybe.” 

He leaned closer to her, flicking buttons that were just beyond her head. She forced her eyes closed, the scent of leather and spice overwhelming her. The heat between her legs threatened to turn molten. 

“I just remembered, I’ve got to polish my saber.” She said suddenly, making a beeline for the ladder. He wasn’t letting her off the hook that easily. 

“By the way.” 

She turned cautiously, wanting to scream. “Yeah?” 

“My helmet picked up some interesting diagnostics last night.” 

Oh stars. 

Chloe blinked. “I—what?”

He nodded slightly, arms still crossed. “Elevated heart rate. Breathing. Skin temp. All peaking right around when you started… talking.”

Her jaw dropped.

“You were monitoring me?”

“Helmet does it automatically,” he said. “Environmental scan. Threat assessment.”

“I wasn’t a threat!”

“Didn’t say you were.”

She took a shaky breath. “Well. That’s—fine. Whatever. Bodies do that sometimes. Could’ve been a fever. Hormones. Blood sugar.”

“Mm.” Din stepped closer. Just a little. “It’s picking it up now too.”

She backed up a half-step. “What?”

“Your readings.” The way he said it sounded so maddeningly neutral. “Heart rate. Flushed skin. Temperature spike.”

Her brain had stopped working, no amount of Jedi training could prepare her for this. 

“Must be my side, still.” She croaked out. “Still healing and all that.” 

Chloe shot down that ladder before Din had anything else to say. 

After the Child had been put to sleep and every conceivable chore had been completed, she settled into Din’s bunk with blindfold securely tightened  around her eyes.

The hope was to fall asleep before Din came to bed. 

The hope was quickly squashed.

Mere minutes after she had settled herself in the thin blankets, she heard the clanking of Din entering the hull. Her eyes remained squeezed shut, mentally logging each piece of beskar he removed in time with the clunk of it hitting the floor. 

Shin plates, thigh guards, cuirass, vambrace, vambrace, pauldron, pauldron, jetpack- 

The final hiss and clunk indicated his helmet was off. 

She shifted slightly, allowing his much broader body to shimmy into the narrow space. She willed her breathing to be slow, despite how much she wanted space to swallow her up.

“Thanks.” He whispered. She gave a small hum in response, not trusting her voice to remain unwavering. 

A pause.

“You’re really warm again,” he said.

She made a strangled noise.

“Still the wound?” he asked, voice unreadable.

She turned her head slightly toward the wall. “Yeah. Sure. That.”

A long silence settled between them. The ship hummed, and somewhere far above, the stars spun silently on. 

“You can sleep,” Din said softly.

“I’m trying,” she muttered. And she really was, she even allowed the warming heat of his body to relax her own.

More silence.

Then, just when she thought it was over—

 “You also said need you last night.”

She groaned this time, smothering the sound in her pillow. Din didn’t laugh, but she could sense his smugness. 

The images of her dream came flooding back, the sensation reigniting the need that lay dormant in her.

“You know what?” She snapped. “Why don’t you just say what you think happened, since you clearly have a lot of opinions.” 

Din paused, then said in a low, steady voice, “I think you begged more than most do in their nightmares.”

He let the words hang for a moment, then added without looking at her, “Not exactly what I expect from a Jedi.”

“You don’t know any other Jedi.” She countered, grumbling profanities as she turned more into her pillow. 

“So they all moan in their sleep?” He asked, voice innocent. 

“Goodnight, Din.” 

“Hopefully, try not to wake me up again.”

[coronetcast]

Codex I: The Things we have Seen

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

It had been roughly a week since Nevarro. 

The Razor Crest was docked on a quiet Outer Rim moon in the Raxus system, grounded as its inhabitants nursed themselves back to life. The forested moon boasted peace and an abundant trade post, the perfect place to lie low while the Mandalorian and Jedi regained their strength. 

Chloe felt the thrum of the Force as she knelt outside the Crest, eyes closed as the wind gently twirled around her. For the first time since her side was ripped open, kneeling to meditate didn’t hurt. Her shoulder wound healed easily within days, the shot to her side was still raw. She knew she probably needed a bacta tank or a medic droid, but she figured if it was manageable now then it would just heal by itself. 

Even if all my tunics have blood stains now… 

The familiar metallic clank came from the ramp behind, something soft dropping in her lap. 

Opening her eyes, she picked up the ration pack that had been unceremoniously tossed in her lap. 

“Thanks?” She muttered, looking up at Din towering over her. He simply nodded, turning back and heading into the depths of the Ship.

She chewed in silence, watching the leaves sway gently. Peace always felt foreign to her, for nearly ten years she’s been entrenched in chaos. However, the peace of this moon was deceiving. Even there were no more blasts and fire, the stillness only accentuating how much Din was pulling away from her.  

Before Nevarro, there had been a brewing warmth. They joked infrequently, stood too close to one another without feeling the need to pull away instantly. Their gaze would linger for a beat more than necessary.  In the quiet dark of the cockpit, they traded fragments of stories. Meaningless, maybe. But they had felt like something.

But that was before. 

Before he called her cyar’ika . 

She didn’t dare ask him what it meant. Mostly because she didn’t want him retreating further, but also because she knew he wouldn’t answer. She didn’t need to know really, she wasn’t an idiot. 

A part of her was angry. Usually, getting pinned down by an Imperial blockade and nearly dying together , was the type of thing that made people closer. Bonds forged in fire, wasn't that the saying?

Then again, maybe it was her own fault for expecting Din Djarin, the most guarded man in the Galaxy, to be bloody normal. 

Maybe she was angry at herself too. For hoping. For thinking they could be more. For reading into a few long looks and thinking they meant something.

Maybe she was just a fool. 

Sighing, Chloe rose to her feet and padded softly up the Crest’s ramp. She moved slower these days, careful of her side. Every movement tugged the healing wound just enough to keep her grounded in discomfort.

Looking over, she could see Din on the far end of the hull polishing a rifle. At his feet, Bean sat happily in a nest of old wiring and stripped-down mechanical parts, cooing to himself like a little engineer in training.

The second he noticed her, Bean squealed with delight, reaching stubby arms up as if to show off the shiny bit of scrap he’d found. Din looked up too, and for a heartbeat, he just stared at her like he hadn’t expected her to still be… around .

She gave Bean a smile, ignoring Din as she grabbed her datapad and headed up to the cockpit. 

When she wasn’t meditating or tending to the Kid, she retreated to the co-pilot’s chair and read. The datapad was old—scuffed and scratched—but inside were some of the rarest Jedi texts still in circulation, gifted to her by Luke before things between them soured.

Din thought they’d find a Jedi through the Mandalorians, through creed and whispers and chance. She was placing her bet on the old stories. The datapad detailed ancient Jedi history from deep within the Old Republic’s archives. Lineages, orders, exile records. Long shots.

But that’s all she had left. Long shots and blind faith.

And if it came down to it… maybe even Luke.

After all, what was one more person who didn’t want anything to do with her?

The unmistakable sound of metal boots on the cockpit ladder made her freeze. She didn’t look up from her datapad, peripheral vision watching Din walk past her to the pilots chair. 

His fingers immediately began working the console, likely checking the system’s feed. He made no acknowledgement of her—like she was part of the durasteel itself. Din wasn’t one for many words, but she’d grown used to at least a casual, offhand comment.

“We’re running low on supplies.” 

“There’s moisture pooling in the rear exhausts.” 

Chloe stared at her datapad, trying to focus, biting back the snide remark bubbling in her throat. After five minutes, his fingers stilled, and he sat motionless, as if she didn’t exist.

“Are you upset with me?” Chloe asked, hoping there was no edge in her voice. 

“No reason to be upset.” He answered flatly, despite his grip tightening on the arm rest. 

“Bullshit.” She muttered, eyes returning to her lap. She didn’t look up, even as he spun around in his seat. 

“What was that?” Din’s voice was as sharp as a blade. It was her turn now to grip the datapad in her hands like a vice. 

“Oh I was just saying that your tantrum is bullshit. ” Chloe responded. 

“ Tantrum?” Din hissed. She looked up now, eyes meeting the T-visor with the heat of a thousand suns. 

“Is that not what you call sulking for days and refusing to say what’s wrong?” 

Din’s visor seemed to narrow, the quiet hum of the ship the only sound between them. “I’m not sulking.” His voice was low, but every word was a challenge.

Chloe’s fingers tightened on the datapad. “Fine. What do you call it then? Because I’m stuck trying to talk to a damn wall.”

Another long silence stretched between the two warriors. They looked every bit the picture of the warring Jedi and Mandalorian of eons past, Chloe and Din somehow lost. 

“I can’t trust you.” Din finally said, voice strained. 

Chloe sat back in her chair, genuinely lost for words. Of all the things she expected him to say, it wasn’t that . She felt like he had just punched her in her gut. 

“I beg your pardon?” She questioned, voice breathless. “After everything-” 

“You threw yourself in front of the kid, in front of me.” He replied, like it made all the sense in the world. She set her datapad down now, leaning forward. 

“You’re not making any sense. ” She snapped, barely containing her simmering frustration. 

Din continued to stare at her, fists balled, as if he were struggling to string his sentence together. It was somewhat endearing, she had never really seen him tongue tied before. He spoke again, this time voice barely concealing an ache behind it. 

“I can’t trust you to not get yourself killed. For the kid? Fine, that's your choice.” He seemed to draw in a deep breath. “But you can’t step in front of me .” 

Chloe opened her mouth, voice shaky. 

“That’s not your choice.” Her head began to throb. “If I had to make that call again, a hundred times over, I would.” 

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” Din bit out. “You would.” 

“So what?” Chloe demanded. “Everytime we run into the first sign of trouble - which is nearly every fucking day - I’m supposed to run with the kid and leave you to die?” 

Din’s hands clenched at his sides, leather gloves creaking under the strain. “That’s not what I said. 

“It’s what you meant .” She hated how tears began to prick at her eyes. “You may be content in pretending, but I won’t. I’m not gonna sit here and apologise for not wanting to lose you.” 

Her breathing had begun heavy as her emotions peaked. She wanted to feel embarrassed for admitting that to him but she was just too exhausted. 

As tears threatened to spill on to her cheeks, she turned and made her way towards the ladder. Before she descended, she paused. She spoke quieter now. 

“Maybe I’m the one who shouldn’t trust you.” 

She didn’t allow him to reply, heading down and out of the ship before he could call after her. 

The stone dropped near the dead centre of the lake, Chloe grunting with the effort of throwing it. She had amassed a nice pile by her foot, but as night was slowly edging over the tranquil moon, her pile was dwindling. 

She had every intention of taking a walk to cool off, to find a quiet spot to connect with the Force. She should be better than this, shouldn’t be this easily spiraling into her quiet turmoil. She had turned to the Force for her survival but it held no real answers for her now. 

None she really wanted to hear right now anyway. 

“ Stupid fucking beskar brained kriffing basta- ”

“Were you raised by Weequay pirates?” 

Chloe froze. 

Turning slowly on her heel, she nearly fell to her knees at the sight before her. Her voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Dad?” 

He looked the same as that fateful day on the Death Star. White hair and deep set lines, but a smirk that seemed to always be ingrained in his face. Although she noted he wasn’t solid, instead a shimmering blue impression in the Force. He was dressed in his robes, folded exactly as he had done for all her life.

She blinked rapidly, heart climbing into her throat. The tears she had fought so hard to contain finally spilled over, unbidden.

“I must be hallucinating,” she whispered, choking on a laugh. “Head wound, blood loss, maybe a full psychotic break…”

“You were always dramatic.” Obi-Wan smiled, stepping lightly across the surface of the lake. “But no, this is very real. Though I admit, I’m not accustomed to being summoned by a string of profanities.”

Chloe half-sobbed, half-laughed, wiping her eyes furiously. “You always show up when I’m falling apart.”

“That’s usually when a Master is most needed.”

She didn’t know whether to throw herself into the lake or try to embrace the glowing spectre in front of her. She just stood there, chest heaving with everything she hadn’t let herself feel until this moment.

“Dad…” She began, lips trembling. “I’m sorry. I know I shut you out, I just-” She couldn’t articulate it. 

“I know.” Obi-Wan said warmly, spectred hand settling on her shoulder. “Sit.” 

She sat on the grassy shores of the lake, her father next to her. The sun was now beginning its descent below the horizon. 

“I’m going to assume you’ve seen everything?” She croaked, tears still hot on her cheeks. 

Obi-Wan looked out over the water, the way he always used to when weighing his words. “I have,” he admitted softly. “Not all of it, but enough to know your heart.”

Chloe sniffed, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Then you know how stupid I’ve been.”

“No,” he said plainly. “I know you’ve been brave. And scared. And maybe a little bit in love.”

That made her laugh—wet and bitter. “You think I’m in love with someone who won’t even look me in the eye?”

“I think you’re in love with someone who’s forgotten how to let himself be loved.” Obi-Wan’s voice was still calm, but the edge of sadness in it was unmistakable. “That kind of pain... is hard to unlearn.”

“He’s not Satine, Dad.” She grumbled into her knees. “He’s a bounty hunter, a killer. Maybe he’s just not capable of love.” 

Obi-Wan chuckled softly, eyes settling gently on the lake shimmering in the sunset. 

“That is not what you have seen.” He said simply. 

He was right and she knew it. Din Djarin may have been all hard lines, blaster smoke and beskar but that all gave way to the Child. From the moment the crib opened on Arvala-7, Chloe felt the light flutter in Din’s Force signature. Even if he kept her at arm's length, the Child would never be anywhere but by his side. 

“I hate myself for loving him.” She whispered, fresh tears welling. “Back on Nevarro, I nearly got myself killed trying to save him. I should have been tactical, should have taken the Child and gone on first instinct and I…. I just couldn’t.” She paused, unsure if she should even acknowledge what she wished to do. 

“Go on, Little Star.” Obi-Wan urged gently. 

She swallowed. “I felt it, stronger than ever before. I wanted to overpower him, I knew I could . I would have ripped his helmet off, taken away everything he held sacred to save him. Even if he didn’t want me to . It’s the strongest I’ve ever felt the Dark Side…” 

Obi-Wan didn’t flinch. He simply watched her, his expression unreadable — not out of judgment, but reverence.

“That frightened you,” he said softly. Not a question.

Chloe nodded, jaw tightening as shame spilled hot down her throat. “I wanted to control him. For one second, I didn’t care what it meant.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed with quiet empathy. “The Dark Side doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it whispers. It preys on our love, not our hate.”

She looked away, lips trembling. “What kind of Jedi even thinks like that?”

“The kind that’s still learning,” he replied. “The kind that cares enough to question herself.”

Silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. Chloe could hear the wind in the trees. The slow ripple of the lake. Her own breath, uneven but steadying.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Obi-Wan asked, gently drawing her eyes back to his. “I see a woman who would rather risk her own soul than let someone she loves fall. You felt the Dark Side, yes — but you didn’t use it. You pulled back. You chose restraint, even in desperation.”

“I wanted to take his choice away,” she said, voice cracking. “I wanted to make him stay . What does that make me?”

“Human,” Obi-Wan said, with a smile that didn’t reach his sad eyes. “Human, and in love with someone whose walls were built long before you ever touched them.”

Chloe curled her fingers into the grass. “Why would the Force guide me to someone like that?”

“Because he is not beyond reach,” Obi-Wan said simply. “And because you are one of the few who sees the truth of him.”

Her breath hitched.

“Search your feelings,” he continued, his voice low and sure. “You know it, don’t you? For all his silence, all his rules… Din Djarin loves you. Fiercely. Terribly. He just doesn’t know how to name it yet.”

She closed her eyes, and the tears spilled freely. She saw it — in flickers. The way he stood between her and danger. The way his hands lingered too long on her waist when steadying her. The way he refused to look at her like a man, and only ever with the eyes of a Mandalorian.

“He won’t say it,” she murmured.

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed. “But love is not always spoken. Sometimes… it’s worn like armor.”

At her fathers words, she let the Force in again, unafraid. It felt like a thousand whispers tickling her skin, euphoric and soothing at the same time. Peace, but this time laced with understanding. For the first time since she had fallen into this new life, she felt like she knew what she was doing. 

“It’s so unfair.” Chloe gave a watery chuckle. “You show up and solve months worth of turmoil in one conversation.” 

Obi-Wan chuckled, a deep sonorous sound that reverberated in the Force. He stood, now facing her hands on hips. She couldn’t help but grin, remembering all the times he took up this exact position to scold her as a child. 

“Perhaps, my obstinate daughter, had you allowed me to speak to you we could have reached this moment of clarity far earlier.” He chuckled, eyes narrowed. She quirked an eyebrow at him, grin now wide. 

“I missed you too Dad.” 

The Crest was quiet, lit only by the dull glow of the cockpit’s instrument panel and the faint hum of the power cell. Chloe stepped inside slowly, boots barely making a sound on the durasteel floor.

She expected to find him asleep, maybe slumped in the pilot’s chair or dozing upright with his back against the wall like he often did when wounded. But instead, Din was sitting on the edge of the bunk, elbow resting on his knee, helmet tilted up just slightly.

Waiting.

Her heart skipped.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” he said lowly, voice slightly gravelled from disuse.

Chloe shifted on her feet. “I needed space,” she admitted. “To breathe. To stop being a complete… mess .”

A long pause passed between them, weighty but not cold.

She stepped closer, just enough for the soft light to catch the silver lines of his armor. “I’m sorry for earlier. I—” she hesitated, then shook her head. “I shouldn’t have lost it on you. It wasn’t fair.”

Din didn’t move, but something in his posture loosened. “You were in pain.”

“That’s not an excuse.” She folded her arms, then unfolded them. “I haven’t been sleeping well. The wound’s pulling. I was already frayed, and then… yeah.”

A nod. The silence wasn’t awkward — it was charged, coiled tight with everything they weren’t saying.

“ I hear what you’re saying Din. ” She smiled gently. “And while I can’t promise that I won’t try and get us both out alive, I’ll at least let the final call be yours.” 

She regarded the way his shoulders seem to slump a fraction, like he had some of the breath knocked out of him. He didn’t reply, simply nodded again. 

She smiled at him, turning to walk to her cot in the corner. Before she could take a step, she felt warmth enclosed around your wrist. 

“You’re going to tear your stitches again.” Din’s voice was soft, as if she was a wild animal about the scuttle away. “Take my bunk.” 

She met his gaze with a furrowed brow. “No way, you’re recovering from a head injury . You sleep on the floor and your brain really will turn into beskar.” 

“Then we share it.” 

She didn’t think he meant to say that, not aloud at least. They both stiffened, Din’s hand still around her wrist. 

“I didn’t mean-” Chloe was quick to cut him off, mostly so she didn’t die from the embarrassment. 

“Do you think sleeping with a helmet on is conducive to brain damage ?” She wanted to laugh, whether to soothe her own nerves or because she genuinely found it funny that the Mandalorian made it this far. 

“This is the Way.” 

“I’m aware, Bucket head.” She chuckled, racking her brain. Chloe perked up after a moment. 

“Wait, no living thing can see you without the helmet on right?” She probed, earning a tilted helmet. 

“What are you getting at?” 

“I won’t see you.” She said, “I can wear a blindfold, maybe two just to be safe, then we can both share the bunk. I mean it’s temporary, just until we’re both healed.” 

Mando visibility stiffen, even his grip on her wrist tightening for a moment before he realised. She could tell he was conflicted, feelings running rampant. She stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his arm. 

“I have no interest in compromising your Creed.” Chloe spoke softly. “I trust you and I hope you can trust me not to look.” 

Din was quiet for a long moment. His helmet tilted downward slightly, like he was studying the floor, or maybe trying to steady his own breathing.

Then, with a subtle nod, he released her wrist.

“I’ll get the blindfold,” he said, voice rougher now.

Chloe blinked. “You’re sure?”

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he moved past her to his pack, rummaging until he found a clean scrap of black cloth. He held it out, then paused. “You’ll… need help tying it. So it doesn’t slip.”

Her heart gave a traitorous little flutter. She stepped closer, turning her back to him, and closed her eyes.

Din’s gloved fingers brushed her hair aside. He tied the cloth gently, but securely, the knot firm against the back of her head. The world went dark — and yet she’d never felt more seen.

“Can you see anything?”

She shook her head. “Just black. You’re safe.”

Another beat passed. Then the quiet, unmistakable sound of the helmet seal disengaging. A soft hiss of released pressure.

Chloe’s chest tightened — not from fear or anticipation, but reverence.

“Alright,” Din murmured, his voice slightly clearer now without the modulator. She had to bite her lip, hoping she could beat away her smile. “You can turn around.”

Of course he sounds sexier without the damn helmet. Of course!

She did, slowly, carefully, until the backs of her legs hit the bunk.

“Okay if I sit?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

The mattress dipped under her weight, then again as he joined her. The space between them was narrow — barely a handspan — and for a while neither of them said anything.

“I’m not used to… this,” he said after a moment.

“Sleeping?” she teased gently.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Being near someone. Without the armor. It’s… different.”

She turned her head toward the sound of his voice, smiling. “Well, I snore. So you might regret this.”

“Doubt it.”

Silence again. But this time, it was warm. Comfortable.

She heard the slight shift of cloth, the way his body turned toward her. She didn’t move. Just listened. Felt.

“Chloe.” His voice was a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I trust you.”

She swallowed. “I trust you too.”

Another beat. Then, slowly, cautiously, she reached out — hand finding his, resting between them on the blanket.

He didn’t pull away.

[coronetcast]

Chapter 8: Redemption

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

Chloe stayed silent as Din scanned the walls for an entrance to the sewers, her eyes fixed on her knees. The numbness crawling through her limbs made it hard to register anything at all — not the scrape of shifting furniture, not the hurried voices, not even Din and Greef sliding a bench aside to reveal a hidden access point.

It was rare for her to feel life force leave a body. In battle, she did her best to block it out. But Kuiil… she’d felt him slip into the Force.

It rattled her to the core. The echoes still rang through her, like her soul had been peeled apart.

She barely registered Din until his hands were on her shoulders, gripping tight.

“Hey,” he said, shaking her gently. “I need you with me, okay? We’re getting out of this, but I need you to stay with me.”

She tried to focus her eyes on him, but it felt like she wasn’t really there at all — like her mind had gone somewhere else and left her body behind.

Din's grip tightened just a little. Not enough to hurt — just enough to anchor.

“Chloe,” he said firmly. No gentleness now. Just him . “Look at me.”

Her gaze fluttered, unfocused.

He leaned closer, voice dropping to something that was almost a plea.

“I can’t do this without you.”

Something flickered behind her eyes.

“You hear me? I don’t want to do this without you. I need you here. Right now.”

She blinked. Shallow. Fragile.

So he pushed.

“Kuiil’s gone, but you’re not. And I’m not. And the kid isn’t. So don’t you dare check out on me. Not now.”

He waited — then gently pressed his forehead to hers, helm to skin.

“We need you.”

A shaky breath ripped from her lungs, as if she was surfacing from being submerged underwater. She nodded quickly, steadying herself as she felt her body respond again. 

“I’m up, I’m up.” She reassured, clamouring to her feet. Just as she prepared to cut through the grate, a commotion stirred outside. 

“Hold up.” Cara called cautiously. 

Chloe peered through the narrow opening that gave a partial view of the square — just in time to see troopers setting something down.

“Oh shit.” She muttered. Cara then confirmed her fears. 

“They’re setting up an E-web.” 

“I’m cutting through.” Chloe hissed, igniting her saber and sprinting to the vent. She stuck the yellow blade through the stone, grunting with the effort of trying to pass the blade through it. The metal was thick, the stone - thicker. 

Even with the Force reinforcing her, it was going to take time they didn’t have.

“Can’t you go any faster??” Cara snapped. 

“The stone’s too thick!” 

“Move!” 

Chloe felt herself being shoved out the way, Cara opening fire on the grate. To no avail. 

“Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation.” The disembodied voice called, slightly mirthful. “I would prefer to avoid any more violence and encourage a moment of consideration.” 

They all froze, breath bated as they awaited more context. 

“Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-web heavy repeating blaster.” The voice came again. 

Chloe hazarded a look. Her eyes flicked from the weapon to the man standing beside it.

High-ranking. Calm. Dangerous.

This is somehow getting worse.

She’d encountered E-webs before. Watched them carve through squads. Seen them slice through flesh and bone like paper. One time, she’d tried to stop a single bolt with the Force — it nearly knocked her unconscious.

There was no way she could hold back a full barrage.

“If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure Republican shocktrooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has seen many of her ranks vapourise, mid-descent.” 

Chloe watched as Cara turned towards the voice, a mixture of fury and confusion plastered across her face. 

But the voice wasn’t finished. 

“Or perhaps former Republican ghost operative Chloe Kenobi will share what remains of the squadrons she led to their deaths against this model’s predecessor.”

How the fuck-

Or maybe the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter Din Djarin,” the officer added, face unreadably neutral — so neutral that Chloe barely registered him saying Din’s last name — “has heard the songs of the Siege of Mandalore, when gunships fitted with similar ordinance laid waste to fields of recruits in the Night of a Thousand Tears.”

She turned to Din, he was staring out the window in shock. Clear, evident shock. 

“I advise disgraced magistrate Greef Carga,” Greef lowered his blaster and damn near rolled his eyes. “To search the wisdom of his years and urge you to lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed in short order and your storied lives will come to an unceremonious end.” 

Like hell they will. 

The officer confirmed they had until nightfall, sweeping himself away with cloak billowing behind him. 

Chloe released a shaky breath and slumped next to the grate. Greef and Cara launched into arguing over their next move. She barely registered them — too caught in the whirlwind of questions unraveling in her mind.

How did he know?

It was one thing for the Client to have intel. Maybe he’d dug deep, maybe someone slipped up. But this ?

Another Imp. And one with real authority.

Ghost operative. Ghost operative. The words kept tumbling through her skull like static.

She was trained to be untraceable. Hidden in shadows. The Wraith wasn’t supposed to exist in any official capacity — not outside of whispers.

But he’d known her name. Her history .

Her stomach coiled.

Then, Din spoke. His voice was flat. Cold.

“I know who he is.”

That pulled her back. She looked up.

“It’s Moff Gideon.”

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Chloe muttered, pressing her fingers to her temple. Her head was splitting now, pain blooming behind her eyes.

Din shook his head and turned to her.

“He knew my name,” he said quietly. “That name hasn’t been spoken since I was a child.”

There was something unspoken at the end of that sentence — one that echoed louder than any words could.

No one’s said my name… until you.

“On Mandalore?” Greef questioned. Again, the helmet shook no. 

“I wasn’t born on Mandalore.” Greef scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. 

“But you’re a Mandalorian.” 

Cara interjected. “Mandalorian isn’t a race.” 

“It’s a Creed.” Din finished.

Chloe felt the shift ripple off him in the Force — something buried rising to the surface. His signature spiked, sharp with memory and pain.

“I was a foundling, they raised me in the fighting corp. They raised me as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed.” 

For a long moment, Chloe said nothing.

Despite everything — the E-web, the Wraith exposure, Kuiil — this was what stunned her.

It explained so much. The way he moved. The walls he’d built. The weight he carried like armor even without the beskar.

A part of her laughed bitterly. Maybe dying prematurely was the price she paid for being insatiably curious about the Mandalorian.

Din continued, voice low.

“The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Gideon was an ISB officer during the Purge.”

“Explains how he has access to top-tier intel,” Chloe murmured, still struggling to process the weight of his admission. “Gideon still needs us, otherwise we would be dead.” 

Her head cocked towards Din, hoping he caught her drift. He nodded, pulling his comm back out. 

“Which means the Child must have escaped, I’ll comm again.” 

Her chest tightened, she didn’t know who would answer. Kuill was dead . She trusted her instincts enough to know that, but she really hoped she was wrong. 

Din’s commlink crackled to life, a happy coo followed by a familiar robotic voice. 

Her jaw dropped.

“Oh, you’re kidding me,” Chloe gasped, a grin tugging at her lips.

IG-11.

In the chaos, she’d nearly forgotten the reprogrammed droid.

There’d be no forgetting him now.

In the distance, her senses picked up the first bursts of blaster fire. The troopers heard it too — their weapons shifted, attention dragging from the safehouse to the new threat.

“Brace yourselves,” Chloe called out, rising to her feet. “I think we’re about to be rescued.”

IG-11 burst into the square, blaster clutched in both hands as he ambushed the troopers with surgical precision.

Din stepped across her, heading for the door. She didn’t stand on ceremony, saber bursting to life as she fell behind him. 

“Cover us!” Din called out.

Cara vaulted onto the counter, raining blaster bolts on the unsuspecting troopers. 

Chloe stepped into the chaos, breath grounding her focus. Bolts screamed past her — she met them with fluid, practiced ease.

Spinning on her heel, she flung her saber toward a line of troopers. The Force guided her strike — the blade cleaved through them, searing armor, limbs, and blasters alike.

She recalled it instantly, fingers curling just as the silver hilt landed back in her grip, humming as it blocked another volley.

The troopers began to give her a wide berth.

It wouldn’t help them.

She was well practiced at deflecting their bolts back into them. 

A sharp strike slammed into her back, sending her stumbling forward.

Chloe pivoted just in time to duck a kick from a shadow trooper. More of his squad advanced fast, rifles raised.

She slashed clean through the first attacker — his armor cracked with a heavy thud as he hit the ground.

Reaching out, she yanked a nearby crate with the Force and hurled it into the oncoming squad. The impact sent them flying.

To her right, IG-11 was advancing — the Child strapped to his chest.

Her heart stopped.

Troopers were falling in behind him.

Chloe leapt forward, placing herself squarely in their line of fire. As the barrage started, her saber worked overtime, deflecting bolts as fast as she could track them.

A searing pain ripped at her shoulder, but she willed her blade to keep moving. A second bolt tore through her side, her blade stuttering in its movements. Throwing her hands up, she willed the Force into a barrier. 

The strain hit like a shockwave, driving her to one knee.She cried out, the effort burning through her.

Then the troopers started to fall, continuous rounds cutting them. She looked over, still maintaining her shield as it became easier to keep up. 

Din had picked up the E-Web and was firing it. 

“How the fuck?” She muttered, half way between incredibly impressed and baffled. 

A blast shook the ground behind her.

Chloe whipped around, eyes widening as stormtroopers stormed the safehouse.

Cara.

She launched forward, body protesting every step. Pain flared in her side and shoulder, but she ignored it.

She moved fast, slipping through the building’s threshold and flanking the troopers from behind. Her saber sang as it cut through them — clean, precise, lethal.

Blaster fire joined hers from the ground. Cara — bloodied and grim — was firing from cover, holding her own.

Once the last trooper fell, Chloe sprinted toward her. She grabbed Cara’s arm, yanking her up — both of them turned just in time to see Din engulfed in a sudden explosion of fire and sound.

Chloe’s ears rang.

Light bloomed violently across her vision.

She threw an arm up over her face, shielding herself from the searing heat.

Smoke billowed in fast. Cara dropped into a cough, doubling over beside her.

And then Chloe saw him.

Din. Motionless. His form crumpled in the center of the blast’s wreckage.

Her heart dropped out of her chest.

No. No no no no no.

“Cover my back!” Chloe shouted, legs already moving, injuries be damned.

She didn’t wait for a response — didn’t need one.

She tore out the door, saber raised, parrying stray bolts as they streaked past her. Her heart thundered in her chest, her focus zeroed in on one thing:

Din.

Cara was right behind her. The two women reached him in tandem, dragging the heavy weight of his armor-clad body back into cover as IG-11 and Greef laid down suppressing fire.

The blast doors slammed shut behind them.

“Din, come on!” Chloe cried, half-collapsing as she lowered him to the floor. Her injuries screamed with every movement, but she didn’t feel them — not compared to this.

“Stay with us,” Cara gasped, kneeling on Din’s other side.

His laboured breathing crackled through the vocoder.

“I’m not gonna make it. Go.”

The words hit Chloe like ice water.

Her blood drained all at once. Her hands locked around his chest plate, gripping it like she could will him to stay alive.

“Shut up, you just got your bell rung,” Cara snapped, voice too loud and too fragile.

She reached for his helmet — and Din caught her wrist.

When Cara pulled her hand back, Chloe’s eyes caught the smear of blood on her palm. Dark, wet, too much.

“Din…” she croaked, throat tightening to the point of pain.

“Leave me.”

Her stomach turned. Her heart was splitting.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Not when he pressed a Mandalorian pendant into Cara’s hand.

Not when he instructed them to find what was left of his covert.

“We can make it!” Cara insisted.

But Chloe was sinking. Her vision swam. Her head fell, limp against Din’s helmet, as if staying upright required too much strength. Her muscles trembled.

“Fuck,” Cara hissed, lifting Chloe’s arm to see her side. Blood soaked her tunic, spreading faster now.

“You’re bleeding bad.”

“I’m fine,” Chloe murmured, the lie weak on her tongue. “We’re not leaving you. We’re all making it out.”

Din didn’t argue this time — not with words.

But the silence that followed said enough.

“I’m not gonna make it,” he rasped. “And you know it.”

The sentence was punctuated by flames bursting through the window.

Both Chloe and Cara moved on instinct — Cara throwing herself over Din, Chloe diving for the Child just metres away.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one tearing through her like a blade. She felt the muscle along her ribs rip further as she landed, but there was no time to scream.

A trooper stepped into the room — a flamethrower already raised.

Chloe twisted, ready to shield the Child again — only to find empty space beneath her arms.

He was gone.

Her heart stuttered. She turned just in time to see him — her little green Bean — standing between them and the fire.

One tiny clawed hand stretched forward.

The flames roared.

But instead of consuming them, they bent . Arcing upward, redirected mid-air like water bending to the will of a storm.

The trooper screamed as his own fire engulfed him, collapsing in a flaming heap.

Chloe caught the Child as he fell backward from the effort, pulling him tight against her bloodied chest. Her arms trembled as she cradled him.

“Incredible, Bean,” she breathed, her voice cracking with pain and awe. “You little whizz.” Her words were met with a sleepy coo. 

Din’s ragged cough cut through the air, drawing Chloe’s attention back to him. Setting the Child gently at his feet, she scrambled to his side, once again trying to lift him. But he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“The kid needs you,” he groaned, voice strained. “You have to take him and get out of here.”

She wasn’t giving up that easily.

Picking up the Child again, she thrust him into Cara’s arms.

“You and Greef get a head start. Droid, you and I are patching up Mando,” she ordered through gritted teeth. Cara nodded, hearing—for the first time—the commanding voice that once made Chloe a leader in the Rebellion.

Bundling the Child back into his satchel, Chloe watched as Cara and Greef disappeared into the sewers.

“Nurse droid!” she barked, wincing. “Do you have bacta?”

“Affirmative.”

Chloe turned back to Din, panic swimming behind her eyes.

“I know you’re not going to like this, but that helmet needs to come off.” She was pleading now. Still, Din didn’t move.

“No,” he croaked, using what strength he had left to pin her hands down. “It’s my Creed. Allow me a warrior’s death.”

She wanted to scream, to rip the helmet off with her own hands. They’d come too far. There was still so much she hadn’t said. The Force surged within her, fueled by fear and rage, driving her hands to move. Her fingers twitched— But stopped.

Tears began to stream down her face, her shoulders trembling with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“Please,” she whispered, her tears falling onto the cold beskar. “Please don’t make me leave you.”

Din raised a hand, his gloved fingers weaving gently into her hair.

“You have to, cyar’ika.”

The word shattered her. Her body folded forward against his chest, her sobs breaking loose after a lifetime of restraint. Every emotion she had buried, every feeling she had locked away for the Mandalorian, now blazed through her like wildfire.

“I can’t,” she choked, barely audible, her face a mess of blood, tears, and ash.

“I know,” Din murmured. “But you have to.”

Sniffling, Chloe nodded, even though every fiber of her being rebelled against it. Turning to the droid, her voice shook with grief and fury.

“Guard him. Do what you can.”

“Affirmative.”

“Chloe.”

Her head snapped back toward Din.

“Don’t let them take him,” he said, voice low but steady. “You’re all he has now.”

She nodded, one final time, squeezing his arm like it might anchor them both. Then she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the sewer. 

The sewers were dark, the only sound the distant echo of blasts as Nevarro burned overhead. Chloe clutched the Child to her chest, forcing her legs to keep moving, even though they felt like lead.

“Up ahead—the covert should be along the main chamber,” she called out, her voice hoarse from crying. Cara glanced back, concern etched in her features.

“Let me carry him,” she said gently, easing the Child from Chloe’s arms.

“But—”

“You need to focus on staying upright. You’re still shaky, even if the bleeding’s stopped.” Cara slung the satchel over her shoulder and moved to half-support Chloe with a steady grip around her waist.

“He’s gone,” the Jedi whispered, more to the dark than to either of them.

Cara made a low, unreadable sound. “Don’t,” she said firmly, an edge in her voice. “Let’s just focus on staying alive. Okay?”

Behind them, another explosion rocked the tunnel—closer this time. But then came another sound beneath the echoes.

Clanking.

They all froze—well, Cara half dragged Chloe into a turn—as a faint light bloomed from the darkness ahead. From the settling dust emerged the tall silhouette of IG-11. And beside him, leaning heavily, another figure.

Din.

“Son of a mud-scuffer,” Cara breathed.

Chloe broke into a hobble, half stumbling, half running toward them with everything she had left. She reached them and collapsed into Din, arms locking around his torso. Her head pressed to the cool beskar of his chest as her legs finally gave out.

She couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out—half a sob, half a scolding:

“I thought you were gone— You scared me half to fucking death— Din Djarin, if you ever do that again—”

Din said nothing at first, just held her tight.

Then he leaned down, his voice so low only she could hear it.

“I’m here.”

She struggled to tear her gaze away from the pile of beskar helmets, stacked in a frozen tableau of sacrifice. Hollow visors stared back at her — nearly identical to the one she had been looking into for the past few months. Only her Mandalorian was still here. These were empty vessels now.

“I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains.” The Armorer’s voice cut through her trance, anchoring her back to the moment.

Slowly, the gold-helmed Mandalorian descended into the depths of the chamber, collecting helmets with quiet reverence. Din followed. Then Greef, Cara, and IG-11.

Chloe hesitated.

She knew how Mandalorians felt about Jedi. Obi-Wan had spoken of it often, recounting the ancient histories with caution and sadness. She didn’t want to overstep.

Sure, she’d nearly died trying to protect a Mandalorian. But that didn’t mean she had earned her place in this space. Her father had raised her better than to assume belonging.

“You may enter, Jedi.” The Armorer’s voice came again — calm, commanding.

Chloe flushed, her breath catching. Limping forward, she entered the forge. Din was already seated at a small table, adjacent to the fire. His helmet tilted toward her as she lingered just behind him.

“It’s rude to assume,” she muttered, noting his tilt. His helmet held the same amused angle.

“Shut up,” she added quietly, casting her gaze forward.

“Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction,” the Armorer commanded.

IG-11 stepped forward, the Child nestled happily in his satchel. Din nodded toward him.

“This is the one.”

“This is the one you hunted, and then saved?” The Armorer’s tone held disbelief as she regarded the wide-eyed baby.

“Yes. The one who saved me, as well,” Din replied.

Chloe leaned forward over his shoulder, wincing slightly. “He’s very advanced for his age.”

The Armorer looked at her, then back to Din — a silent where in the stars did you find these two clearly passing through her visor.

“I know of the power your kind possesses, Jedi,” she said at last. “The songs of eons past tell of wars fought between Mandalore the Great and an order of enemy sorcerers.”

Chloe was quick to interject.

“That’s ancient history.”

The Armorer stiffened at the interruption, her T-visor zeroing in on Chloe. A beat passed before she gave a clipped nod.

“Agreed. Once, your kind were enemies. But you two individuals are not.”

She turned back to the Child. “Which begs the question, Jedi: why have you not taken this child to your kind?”

Chloe swallowed, her throat dry. She could feel Din looking at her now too.

“Do Mandalorians have a word for one who turns away from the Creed?” she asked quietly, gathering herself.

The Armorer nodded. “An apostate.”

“Right.” Chloe exhaled, trying to gather her thoughts. “I suppose I’m… sort of an apostate. Well, not really—ugh.”

She winced at her own phrasing, her head swimming. The blood loss wasn’t helping, and the heavy silence didn’t either.

Deep breath.

She squared her shoulders, her voice clearer this time.

“I am a Jedi, like my father before me. But I disagreed with my Order—on how Jedi should serve. I fell out with the only family I had. I’ve been out of contact for years. And unfortunately… Jedi are rare in this galaxy.”

She could still feel Din’s stare on her, even as the Armorer’s had long moved on. 

“By Creed, Din Djarin, this foundling is in your care.” 

“You wish me to train this thing?” Din asked. If the atmosphere weren’t so tense, she would laugh at the image of Din trying to train Bean.

The Armorer shook her head. 

“No, you have no choice but return it to its kind.” She said, “It is now both of your responsibilities.” 

“You expect me to search the galaxy for it’s kind and hand it over to a race of enemy sorcerers? ” Din was quickly silenced. 

“This is the Way.” 

Chloe sharply nudged Din’s side, shooting him a sharp look. 

“Easy on the tone Bucket-head.” She said lowly, only half joking. “This enemy sorcerer is currently bleeding out after trying to save your ass.” 

Din shifted, wincing.

“Yeah, well... you didn’t do a very good job.”

He glanced toward IG-11, who was quietly nearby.

“The droid told me I have brain damage.”

Chloe snorted softly. 

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure you had that before.” 

Cara interrupted them. 

“We’re all going to be dead if we don’t get out of here, the place is gonna be swarming with Imps any minute now.” 

Chloe snapped back to focus, heeding the Armorers' words to take the underground flats. She watched in quiet awe as the Armorer approached Din’s pauldron, engraving a Mudhorn signet into it. The beskar sparked and burned bright, Din holding a soldier's stiffness the entire time. As the Armorer pulled back, she made a declaration. 

“You are a clan of three.” 

Chloe’s eyes would have popped out her head had she not been so run-down. Instead, she allowed warmth to spread across her chest. 

“Thank you. I will wear this with honour.” 

Boom!

The sewers rocked, urging them to move

“I can’t hold this thing much longer,” Chloe gritted out. Her hands were locked out in front of the barge, the Force slipping through her grasp like water. Her body screamed with every pulse of effort — a chorus of pain and exhaustion.

“I still retain the security protocols from my manufacturer,” IG-11 spoke calmly behind her. “If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

Maybe it was the blood loss or the fact she’d nearly died multiple times today, but Chloe was sure Din was arguing with the droid.

“Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured, and the Child will be lost.”

Din’s voice strained. “We can find another way.”

“Please confirm that the Child will be safe in your care,” IG-11 cut him off, with mechanical finality.

Still, Din pushed back.

“There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive,” the droid said simply.

“I’m not sad…” Din murmured.

“Yes, you are. I am a nurse droid. I have analysed your voice.”

Chloe was barely holding on — skin pale, drenched in cold sweat. Her limbs trembled from the strain. Her world narrowed to the effort of slowing the barge.

“You may let go now.”

IG-11’s calm voice broke through like a blade. The moment shattered. Chloe’s arms dropped, the Force slipping from her grasp. She stumbled back, barely catching herself against the wall.

She blinked — just in time to see the droid step off the barge, striding toward the mouth of the tunnel and the waiting ambush beyond.

“IG—wait!” Chloe called out instinctively, staggering toward the edge of the barge. Her voice echoed uselessly in the tunnel, but the droid didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate. Just walked calmly into the light, into the gunfire.

A moment later, he triggered his core.

The flash of the explosion lit up the tunnel like a sun, the shockwave slamming into the barge and sending a hot gust of air and dust down the passage. Chloe ducked instinctively, bracing herself against the wall as it rattled behind her ribs.

When the heat cleared, silence followed. Not the peaceful kind — the stunned, ringing silence that always came after loss.

Chloe’s breath caught. She couldn’t even form words. Just stared down the now-empty tunnel, the Child tucked tight in Cara’s arms, Din silent beside her.

The barge rolled out into an unsettling silence, a score of stormtroopers laid to waste along the banks of the lava river. The smell of ash and smouldering flesh was nearly enough to make Chloe throw up—if she even had enough fluid left in her body to do so.

Just as the weight of IG-11’s sacrifice settled over them, the sky began to screech again.

“Moff Gideon!” Cara called, the blaster cannon already aimed at the sky.

The TIE fighter made a tight loop, raining down green bolts that narrowly missed them. Chloe ignited her saber, not entirely sure what she intended to do with it.

“We’re sitting ducks,” she heaved. “He’s not gonna miss again.”

“Let’s make the baby do the magic hand thing!” Greef exclaimed. “Hey, baby! Do the magic hand thing!”

Despite the very real possibility that they might die in the next five seconds, Chloe was determined to go out with a withering look on her face.

“What the kriff, Carga?” she scolded. Greef raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m out of ideas!”

“I’m not,” Din growled, holstering his blaster.

“Din?” Chloe said skeptically, watching as he strapped the jetpack onto his back.

Gideon’s TIE was circling again, screaming around the mountain and barreling straight toward them. He was drawing closer—fast. And Din stood perfectly still.

“Care to clue us in?” Chloe asked, unease thick in her voice.

No answer.

The TIE opened fire, its bolts streaking toward them in a deadly line.

Din’s jetpack roared to life.

Without a word, the Mandalorian launched into the air—soaring up and over the fighter in a single, impossible arc. Chloe caught a glimpse of his grappling line latching onto the wing, yanking him into place.

“Maker, I didn’t think he was actually going to do that,” Chloe muttered, breath catching.

The ship dipped and twisted violently, trying to shake him. But Din clung on like a gnat. The barge docked just as the TIE made a brutal dive and barrel roll.

“How the fuck is he staying on?” Cara asked out loud. Chloe didn’t have an answer.

Maybe he has the Force too.

Then—suddenly—Din’s figure detached from the TIE, just before one of its wings exploded in a burst of flame. The fighter spiraled out, trailing smoke and fire as it crashed hard in the distance.

Jets whined overhead.

Din landed less than gracefully ahead of them, his feet dragging for several meters before he finally stopped.

“That was impressive, Mando, very impressive!” Greef called out as the group rushed to meet him. “I think your Guild rates have just gone up!”

Cara gently placed the Child back into Chloe’s arms, looking half-relieved and half-reluctant.

Chloe smiled, sore and aching, but content, and hobbled forward to stand beside Din.

“Any more stormtroopers?” he asked.

“Town’s cleared out,” Cara replied. “I’m sticking around to make sure it stays that way.”

“If you see any,” Chloe groaned, “punch them really hard in the face for me.”

Cara laughed—her first real one all day.

“I thought Jedi were all about non-violence,” she teased.

Chloe gave her a mock-stern look, then winced.

“I didn’t say shoot them, Dune.”

As Cara and Greef turned to discuss her staying on Nevarro—mostly bureaucratic details—the Child squirmed in Chloe’s arms, reaching toward Din.

He didn’t hesitate. With a quiet, practiced ease, he took the little green gremlin into his arms.

“And you two will always be welcome back,” Greef said warmly. “And you, Mando, will be welcomed back into the Guild with open arms.”

“I’m afraid I have more pressing matters at hand,” Din said, glancing down at the Child.

After a few heartfelt goodbyes, the Jedi, the Mandalorian, and the Child made their way back to the Razor Crest .

The sun had set on a bloody day in Nevarro’s history—but tomorrow, it would rise on something new.

As for the crew of the Razor Crest... Change had already taken root.

[coronetcast]

 Chapter 7: The Reckoning

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, light smut, dream fingering (?), suggestion of forced impreg

Chloe watched the Child, the quiet hum of the full ships settling like a warm blanket around them. He slept peacefully, curled up in his own little hammock, snuggling deeper into the soft fabric.

She flinched.

“No!” Her voice was firm as she scooped the Child into her arms. Cara, who had been clawing at her throat moments before, gasped for air. “Absolutely not! We don’t hurt friends.”

The memory of the Child’s bewilderment burned into her mind — as if he didn’t understand why he was being punished. He had acted on instinct, protecting the Mandalorian.

Protecting Din.

Chloe shook her head, worry gnawing at her chest. She wasn’t angry, not really. He was still a baby — a frighteningly powerful baby — and he had so much to learn about controlling his emotions. She could teach him, if only they weren’t marching straight toward their deaths by heading back to Nevarro.

Even with Cara, Kuiil, and IG-11 by their side, she couldn’t shake her apprehension.

“You should get some sleep.”

She smiled softly, eyes still fixed on the gentle rise and fall of Bean’s chest. It amazed her how much Din was a shadow in the Force, even his signature seemed to waver like a faint breeze.

“Got to make sure this one doesn’t start terrorizing the Blurgs,” she joked quietly.

“I mean it.” Din’s voice was calm, but infuriatingly steady as always.

“I know you do.” Chloe sighed. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, not since he revealed his name. She hoped he hadn’t noticed—or if he did, that he assumed she was still shaken by Xi’an’s harassment.

She hoped he couldn’t see how much she burned for him.

Knowing his name felt too intimate, more intimate than if she had done everything that crazy Twi’lek had suggested. Chloe didn’t know how many people actually knew it, but she’d bet a small fortune the number was low.

Before he told her, she could shove all her feelings for him down into the same deep pit inside her that held Obi-Wan and Luke. But in typical Mando fashion, he had surprised her—turned her completely upside down and inside out.

Chloe wasn’t mad at the Child for what he did to Cara—even if she should be. No, she was mad that it had become a sick metaphor for how she felt about her Mandalorian companion. Yet she didn’t have the luxury of not knowing better. She couldn’t burn the world for him. She couldn’t become what Anakin had become.

She felt Din shift beside her, settling on the edge of his bunk. Tucking the Child in once more, she joined him. They sat in silence, Chloe acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body. She had to cling to any semblance of sense left in her to keep from leaning into him—no matter how much she wanted to.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered, staring at the sleeping forms of Cara and Kuiil.

She had grown too attached. This upcoming fight weighed on her more than it should. The thought of losing the Child, of losing Din… the feeling carved out her soul and spat it on the ground. She did this to herself. She allowed his quiet calm to seep under her skin. She allowed herself to find comfort standing behind him.

She allowed herself to surrender to how he made her feel, willingly giving up the years of isolation and distrust she thought welded itself to her bones. After everything — her father and Luke — she had promised herself she wouldn’t let anyone in again.

She was a fucking hypocrite.

After all she had fought Luke about — how the Jedi needed to move into a new dawn, after all Obi-Wan’s lectures about the difference between love and attachment — here she was.

“We’ve got the element of surprise,” Din said, his voice steady and reassuring.

A gloved hand settled on her knee, and for once, she didn’t feel like it burnt her. She let the warmth of his palm make its way into her bones. She sensed him about to pull away, but she firmly placed her hand atop his.

The Mandalorian stiffened for a moment before visibly relaxing beside her.

Just two tired warriors, letting the dull hum of the ship swallow them.

“Sorry for the remote rendezvous Mando.” Greef Carga hailed. “But things have gotten a bit more complicated since you were last here.” 

“Evidently.” Chloe replied coldly, gaze unwavering from atop her Blurg.

“It seems introductions are in order, we both seem to have provided a security detail.” Greef spoke, then pointed directly at Cara. “I recommend the shocktrooper stay behind and guard the ship, these lava fields are lousy with Jawas.” 

Chloe chuckled, grip tightening on the reins as Cara shifted menacingly beside her. 

Fat fucking chance. 

“She’s coming with me.” Mando replied simply. Greef continued to irately plead his case. 

“The town is overrun by ex-Empire, having a rebel dropper with us will surely raise their hackles.” 

“In this situation,” Chloe said. “I’d worry less about the Empire's hackles and more about your own neck, Carga.” 

She took a flicker of satisfaction in the way Greef glowered at her. She didn’t give him anything back, forcing her face into a mask of indifference.

“Fine.” He conceded. “At least cover your tattoo, no need to flaunt it. Now, where is the little one.” 

Chloe’s eyes never left the crib as it floated achingly slow towards the bounty hunters, her hand coming to rest on her saber. The crib halted, hissing open. 

“So, this little bogwing is what all the fuss is about.” Greef exclaimed, lifting the Child gently. “What a precious little creature! I can see why you didn’t want to harm a hair on its precious little head.” He spared a glance her way. “The Jedi - I’m still figuring out. Lots of credits in Jedi, Mando.” 

Chloe scoffed, hand now tightening on her saber. Din remained silent at her side, hand hovering over his blaster. 

“Well, I’m glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all.” 

Chloe’s posture didn’t relax -not even as they began their journey into the lava flats. 

His hands roamed her body like he was a man starved, gloved fingers digging into her hips. She couldn’t see but she knew it was him -the way he moved, the heat of him. Cold beskar bit into her bare back as his finger trailed over her breasts, down her stomach and towards where she burned for him. 

A gasp left her mouth as his fingers teased at her entrance, his manner uncharacteristically playful. 

“Is this where you need me?” He crooned, voice modulated through the vocoder.

. A desperate cry left her lips as she arched into him, chasing his warmth. 

“Answer me.” 

“Yes! Din please!” She begged, voice shaking, close to tears. 

He chuckled, but he sounded distant now. 

Too distant.

“Chloe!” Her eyes snapped open, panic rising in her throat. A corridor faced her - endless, metallic and dark. So dark that it felt like it was swallowing her. Then came the scream; high-pitched and shrill. 

The Child.

“Din!” She called back, racing down the corridor. Her feet thundered against the metal, her pace matching the rapid beating of her heart. “Din! Where are you?” 

Another scream rang out, this time deeper and followed by blaster fire. Chloe’s hand flew to her saber,  igniting it before she knew what she was doing.

The corridor disappeared in a bath of crimson light. 

Not yellow - red. 

She dropped the saber like it scorched her. 

She was no longer in the corridor, darkness replaced with angry flickering light. Nevarro burned around her, flames climbing the blackened buildings. The sky was smothered in smoke and ash, the smell of death and destruction assaulting her senses.

Then she saw the bodies -civilians, rebel, stormtrooper- lay scattered at her feet like discarded dolls.

 At the centre of it all; Din. 

He was clutching the limp form of the Child in his arms. Hot tears began to stream down her face as she watched the Mandalorian stare down at the lifeless form of their ward. 

She took a step forward, stopping at a familiar click.  Din raised his blaster in her direction, helmet still pointed down towards the Child. Her lip quivered as she spoke. 

“Din.” She wanted to cling to him,  make him understand that she didn’t mean it. 

She just wanted to protect them. 

He finally looked up at her -slowly, like it took all the strength he had left-  finger over the trigger now. 

Even if she couldn’t see his face, she could feel the anger that simmered under his beskar. His betrayal.

“How could you do this?” 

Chloe jolted awake, a soft gasp escaping her lips. 

There was no destruction here, just the dark lava flats - still and quiet. 

The Child. 

She scrambled to her feet, mind reaching out for the pod before the sleep had even left her. The Force placed it gently at her hips as she opened it. 

Chloe let out a deep shaky breath, eyes met with the peacefully sleeping form of the Child. 

Her once thundering heart settled as she tucked him in tighter - reminding herself that he was warm. His chest was still rising and falling.

She was so caught up in her panic, she hadn’t noticed Din had been standing behind her the whole time.

“You OK?” 

His voice startled her, mostly from how close he was. 

“Bad dream,” She huffed out a small laugh, closing the pod.  “sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She turned to head back to her bedroll, giving his arm a gentle squeeze in passing — a familiar, grounding gesture.

“You called for me.”

She froze.

He added, softer this time: “While you were asleep.”

For the first time she could remember, Chloe thought Din sounded... stunned.

Flashes of the dream flickered behind her eyes — not the nightmare, but the beginning. The part she didn’t want to think about.

She tossed a weary smile over her shoulder.

“Like I said,” she murmured. “Bad dream.”

“The plan was to kill you and take the kid.” 

Din and Cara had their blasters raised, eyes trained on Greef as he stood beside the corpses of the mercs he just shot down. 

Chloe on the other hand - caught somewhere between sleep deprivation and the urge to launch herself into the sun - pinched her nose bridge and sighed. 

“Naturally.” She muttered, deflated. “Because it would be far too simple for anyone to actually stick to a damn plan.” 

Greef turned, speaking to her directly. 

“After what happened last night, I couldn’t go through with it.” She could feel his earnesty - Din and Cara weren’t convinced. Their blasters stayed firmly aimed. 

“You can gun me down if you want and it wouldn’t violate the Code,” Greef went on, “but if you do, this child will never be safe.” 

“We’ll take our chances.” Cara sanpped. 

Kuill interjected calmly, “We should let him speak.” 

Eyes still trained on Carga, Chloe’s hand rose to Dins blaster. Gently, hand over his, she implored him to lower it. 

“I’m with him.” She said softly. “Killing him won't stop the Client from sending hunters.” She concluded. Reluctantly, the Mandalorian holstered the blaster. 

“Let’s just kill him and get out of here.” Cara implored. 

“No.” Din’s vote was final. “He’s right.” 

Two troopers sat idly at Nevarro’s gate, jerking upright as they approached. Greef led the ensemble - next to him Din and Chloe in binders. Cara flanked them, unease rolling off her so strongly that it turned Chloe’s stomach. 

The plan was simple, get in close enough so that either Chloe or Din could kill the Client. And, in her opinion, as structurally sound as a Tusken trying to hitch a ride on a Krayt Dragon. 

The older I get, the more I’m becoming Dad. 

Once upon a time, a plan like this would have thrilled her beyond her better sense. Yet, now she felt like a live wire, strung tight and ready to snap.

She didn’t have much to lose back then, easier to risk herself without consequence. That was back before she had a little green child that needed her; or a Mandalorian who’s absence would haunt her till her final breath. 

Silently, she sent an apology through the Force — a gentle whisper to Obi-Wan, wherever he was — Sorry for all the stress, Dad. You’d hate this plan too.

After the troop assessed Carga’s chain code, he spoke again. 

“I’ll give you 20 credits for the helmet.” 

“Not a chance — that’s going on my wall!” Greef replied, a nervous edge to his voice.

“Besides,” Chloe muttered. “Won’t make you a better shot.” 

That earned her a swift punch to the gut — hard enough to knock the wind out of her, but not enough to wipe the smirk from her lips.

From her side, she could feel the exasperated look Din gave her before facing forward again.

“On your wall?” He whispered to Greef. 

“Just go with it…” 

They were marched through town, now robbed of its citizens and instead catering to a small army of troopers. 

“You said four troopers.” Cara hissed. “There are more than four troopers .” 

“Four guarding the Client ,” Greef reminded her, keeping his head down. “Many more in town. Things got really heated after Mando crashed the safe house.”

Cara shot him a glare that could have incinerated him on the spot.

“Slip them their weapons.” She demanded quietly. When Greef hesitated, she looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Let’s get behind cover before we think about weapons,” Chloe cut in. “We’re too exposed out here.”

They rounded a corner, and the blast doors to the safe house slid open with a low, ominous hiss.

As they entered, Chloe’s eyes immediately locked onto the grizzled face of the Client at the central table. Around him, four—

“You see? Four.” Greef whispered. 

If one more person mentions the amount of fucking troopers…

They were marched silently toward the Imp, who had already risen from his chair to meet them. Chloe noticed how the old man’s eyes raked over Din — more specifically, his beskar. Her skin crawled. She half-expected him to start licking his lips.

“Look what I brought you, as promised,” Greef offered. The Client didn’t even glance at him.

“What exquisite craftsmanship,” he murmured, lifting a hand to trail across Din’s chest plate and helmet. Chloe tensed. It took everything she had not to react — praying to the Force he wouldn’t try to remove Din’s helmet.

“It is amazing how beautiful beskar can be when forged by its ancestral artisans.” 

The Client’s eyes then drifted to her. 

“The practices we owe to those who came before us are important, aren’t they Jedi?” The Client’s hand reached next, thumb gently stroking her cheek — as if she were some prized hound at auction. Her jaw locked, gaze like ice, refusing to flinch.

Beside her, she could feel the heat of Din’s helmet aimed at the old man’s hand.

“You will make a fine candidate for our incubation program.” He said, as if commenting on the weather. “May I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative.” 

Greef nodded awkwardly, and they were guided to the central table as the Client signaled the bar droid. Chloe barely registered the low, self-important ramble he launched into — her attention fixed on two more troopers entering the safe house.

She wasn’t sure who looked more tense — herself or Cara.

“I would like to see the baby,” the Client said suddenly, dragging her attention back. Her skin prickled.. 

“Uh, it is asleep.” Greef threw his arm hastily over the crate. The old man wasn’t having it.

“We will all be quiet.” a tense silence fell. “Open the pram.” 

Chloe’s hand twitched. She considered summoning her saber from Greef’s belt — but a trooper stooped beside the Client, raising a white-gloved hand to his helmet. The old man excused himself to take a call. 

She watched him retreat to the bar, Din taking his cuffs off beside her. She followed suit, heart beat started to race now.  Din leaned into Carga.

Din leaned toward Greef. “Give me the blaster.”

“You get one shot,” Greef whispered back.

Cara leaned in, eyes darting.

“This is bad. You said four.”

“Force preserve me,” Chloe muttered, glaring. “There’s more than four. We have to fucking move—”

Cara’s only reply was a blistering death stare at the surrounding troopers.

The Force coiled around her like a snake — tight, restless. Probably just a reflection of her own tension. Straining her ears, she tried to pick up the conversation happening at the bar, but the Client’s voice was too muffled at this distance, his body blocking any chance of a clean read.

She didn’t need to hear the final words of the call to feel the air shift. The Force blared in her head like a ship alarm, forcing her to call out.

“Get down!” 

Glass shattered as red bolts tore through the safe house. They all dove behind the now-upturned table. Chloe grabbed Greef and pulled him into deeper cover, yanking her saber from his belt and igniting it with a snap-hiss of yellow light.

Then - silence. 

No more blaster fire through the shattered window. Just the harsh sound of breathing.

She felt a tap on her shoulder. Glancing over, she saw Din signaling her left. She moved quickly, crouched low, until she was pressed behind a thick pillar. 

Peering around it, her stomach sank.

A carrier was dropping off at least twenty more troopers.

She closed her eyes.

Do not say it, Dune. Please don't say it. 

“Four stormtroopers?” She exclaimed. 

Chloe grit her teeth. As much as she wanted to resist the urge to comment, she couldn’t help but agree. They were pinned by a town full of stormtroopers — and now a squad of shadow troopers, all with blasters aimed squarely at them.

“Mando,” Chloe warned. “We’re pinned, they’ve got us on all exits.” 

“I know.” Din snapped, pulling his comm out. “Kuiil. Are you there? Do you copy?” 

A burst of grainy static. Kuiil’s voice broke through, distant but alive.

“Are you back to the ship yet?” Din asked. “Get back to the ship and bail. Get the kid out of here. We’re pinned down.” Chloe tried not to register the panic creeping into his voice. Din never sounded like that.

Overhead, an all to familiar squeal scream. 

“Oh great!” Chloe hissed. “A TIE fighter, awesome! Kriffing amazing.” Her grip threatening to bend the metal of her saber. 

“You’re a Jedi!” Greef sputtered. “You can float things with your damn mind.” 

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh and knocked her head lightly against the pillar. Maybe if she hit it hard enough, she’d be unconscious for her death.

“Oh? You want me to float the army of troopers away ? That your grand plan, Carga?” Her voice was low, dark with disbelief.

“Enough!” Din snapped, cutting through them just as a shadow stretched across the interior of the safe house.

The Force shifted — heavy, fractured. It pressed in on her chest, sharp and dissonant. It felt like static in her blood, like she could hear a low pulse vibrating through the air.

“You have something I want.” A voice called out, laced with well concealed malice. “You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not.” 

“Kuill?” Din’s comm was to his helmet again. “Are you back at the ship yet? They’re onto us.” 

Her stomach began to sink, closing her eyes and trying to find Kuill’s signature on the planet.

“Kuill come in!” Din called again. 

“In a few moments,” The shadow continued. “It will be mine.” 

The Force rippled like spears across the land, sharp and impossible to hold onto. Chloe barely kept her mind tethered to it — but there, buried in the wave, she felt him.

A small, flickering signature. A spike of panic.

Din’s voice grew more frantic.

“Kuill! Do you copy?” 

“It means more to me, than you will ever know.” 

She felt the phantom blaster bolt ricochet in her back, a gasp pulling from her lips. Ignoring Cara and Greefs concerned looks, she slid down the wall, saber extinguishing with a hiss.

Somewhere in the chaos, the Mandalorian still called for Kuiil. 

She knew he wouldn’t answer.

[coronetcast]

Chapter 6: The Prisoner

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, light smut (thought of smut?), repressed idiots in love, yearning TM, Xi'an being a dick, Din doesn't have an innocence kink but it's something fucking adjacent, touched starved Jedi, repressed Mando

The Razor Crest cruised silently through hyperspace, stars bending into light outside the viewport. Chloe stood beside the console, arms crossed, watching Din in the pilot seat. It was one of the many comfortable silences they’d fallen into since Tatooine — a shift between them that she didn’t particularly want to name.

“So,” she said, drawing the word out, “we’re flying straight into the arms of a guy named Ran.”

Din didn’t answer, but the slight tilt of his helmet let her know he was listening.

She grinned. “How’d that happen? You lose a bet? Owe him a favor? Or did he save your life and now you’re sworn to him by a code of stoic honour?”

“We worked together. Years ago,” he said.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “You ran with a crew?”

She couldn’t imagine Mando as anything other than solitary. In the same way apex predators rarely existed in colonies or groups. 

“Did a few jobs. Nothing special.” That sparked something in her. 

She leaned closer, tone playful. “So what were you like back then? Let me guess—lone wolf, all brooding stares and cryptic one-liners. Still didn’t take off the helmet, but you brooded harder to compensate.”

Din was silent for a moment. Then, “Reckless.”

She blinked. “You?”

He glanced at her. “Hot-headed. Thought I could muscle through everything.”

She gave a low whistle. “A young Mandalorian menace, huh?”

He didn’t answer.

“What’d you wear back then?” she asked, curiosity winning out. “You didn’t have full beskar, right?”

Another beat of silence, then Mando shifted. 

“Had pieces. Helmet’s original,” he said, tapping his temple. “Chest plate and gauntlets came later. Rest was a mix of durasteel and salvaged parts.”

She smirked. “A real patchwork gunslinger. I can picture it.”

He huffed—something almost like a chuckle.

Chloe studied him for a moment. “You’ve changed. A lot.”

He didn’t deny it. Something hung between them — the quiet weight of “you have no idea.”

“Still don’t let me in, though.” Her voice softened. “I’ve been flying with you for how long now? Still don’t know your name. Real name.”

She could find out, sure. Wait for his mental fortitude -of which he had an abundance- to slip, allow her to slip in and out without him even noticing. She’d done it hundreds of times, was it strictly above code of how a Jedi should act? No, but she didn’t grow up in a temple on Coruscant. The galaxy was unforgiving and at times, she needed every advantage she could get. She could find out his name. 

I wouldn’t have earnt it though. 

“You don’t need to,” he said, not unkindly.

“No?” she said. “What if I want to call you something other than ‘Mando’ when I’m yelling at you?”

“I’ll know it’s you,” he said evenly. That sent warmth creeping into her cheeks — and she was suddenly very glad his heat-sensing helmet was pointed the other way.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “You’re the most emotionally constipated man in the Outer Rim. Perhaps the galaxy.”

The helmet tilted her way. “You’re not the first to say that.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “At least you’re self-aware.”

Outside, the stars snapped back into points as the Crest exited hyperspace. The shadow of a space station loomed ahead.

“Time to see if your old friends are as charming as you,” she said, strapping in.

“They’re not,” Din replied.

She smirked. “Perfect.”

Once the Razor Crest docked, they were out on the ramp. With the Child safely tucked away, the Mandalorian and Jedi walked out into the hangar bay. 

“Nice place,” Chloe muttered, her voice low. “Smells like broken dreams and coolant.”

Mando didn’t respond, but the slight tilt of his helmet told her he heard.

“Mando.” A dishevelled figure emerged from behind a stack of parts. “Is that you under that bucket?

She prickled slightly as Mando walked towards him and shook his hand. “Ran.” 

The energy around him couldn’t stick, like something too slick to be held. She inwardly sighed. 

So it begins… Can’t believe I’m not the first person to call Mando a buckethead. 

 “Good to see you again.” Ran’s eyes seemed to fall on Chloe next, taking her in with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Didn’t know you had a partner now?” 

“I don’t,” Mando replied immediately, voice flat. “She’s just helping with this job.” His words were measured but sharp. Ran knew better than to push.

Chloe hung back slightly as the two men discussed the job — details she let wash over her without really listening. Instead, her senses reached out through the Force, reading the room, noting exit routes, gauging the wary glances exchanged. The Child was safe on the Razor Crest. For now.

She didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Here’s the crew!” 

They approached a tucked-away corner of the station, where a man stood with his back to them. Chloe had never seen that many blasters strapped to a single person.

“Hey, Mayfeld,” Ran called out.

The man turned and blinked at the sight of Mando. “This is Mando, the guy I was telling you about. We used to do jobs way back when.”

“This is the guy?” Mayfeld asked, swaggering forward. His eyes slid over to Chloe. “And her?”

“Associate in crime,” she replied dryly, one brow raised. Mando had made it clear they weren’t partners. Mayfeld scoffed, clearly unimpressed.

“We were all young, trying to make a name for ourselves,” Ran continued. “But running with a Mandalorian? That gave us a reputation.”

Mando stood still as stone. Chloe glanced sideways at him but said nothing.

“Oh yeah?” Mayfeld said. “What’d he get out of it?”

Ran huffed a laugh. “I asked him that one time. You remember what you said, Mando?”

If he did, Mando wouldn't show it.

“Target practice.”

Ran and Mayfeld laughed like that was the funniest thing in the galaxy. Chloe didn’t join in. Her stomach tightened—not out of fear of Mando, but a creeping unease that they’d just walked into something messier than it looked.

“That was a long time ago,” Mando finally said, his tone flat.

Ran kept talking, slapping Mayfeld on the back. Apparently, Mayfeld was in charge of the crew now. A former Imperial sharpshooter—not that anyone seemed particularly impressed.

“I wasn’t a Stormtrooper, wise-ass!” Mayfeld snapped.

Chloe snorted under her breath and leaned slightly toward Mando to stifle the sound. He didn’t react, but she felt the shift in his attention all the same.

Mayfeld led them toward the rest of the crew. Apart from the Devaronian sizing her up like she was made of synth-steel, she made it through the introductions unscathed.

“I thought you said you had four,” Mando said flatly.

“They do.”

The voice came from behind them.

Chloe turned just as a lithe Twi’lek woman rounded the corner, her eyes locked on Mando like a predator reacquiring prey.

“Hello, Mando,” she purred.

The Force twisted around her in chaotic spirals, dipping and diving with such erratic energy it made Chloe’s stomach lurch.

“Xi’an.”

Mando’s voice wasn’t cold, exactly—but it was stiff with something Chloe couldn’t quite name. Surprise, maybe. Regret, even. She wasn’t jealous—not really. Jedi training had made sure of that. But the unease was harder to rationalize.

Something in this job was already off. And they hadn’t even left the hangar yet.

Xi’an spoke again, twirling a vibroblade expertly between her fingers. “Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand.”

Chloe felt it before it happened—the ripple in the Force, the gleam in Xi’an’s eye. She stepped forward on instinct, but a beskar-clad arm stopped her. Mando’s hand found her waist, firm, protective. His body angled between her and the Twi’lek without hesitation.

Xi’an didn’t strike. Instead, she let out a high, unhinged laugh.

“Nice to see you too,” Mando said flatly.

“I’ve missed you,” Xi’an said, circling them like a predator scenting weakness. Her eyes fixed on Chloe, trailing over her with mock curiosity. “Didn’t think you were the type to hire help that pretty.”

Chloe met her gaze evenly, but she could already feel her cheeks warming. This again.

Xi’an smirked. “What do you two do in all that downtime, huh?” She tilted her head with exaggerated innocence. “She quiet, or do you have to keep her mouth busy some other way?”

The jab hit harder than Chloe wanted to admit. Her posture didn’t shift, her face didn’t crack—but inside, she could feel herself burning. The implication, the assumption. She wasn’t even sure what stung more—being reduced to a companion or the idea that maybe, just maybe, she’d thought about what those nights of “downtime” might feel like.

“She’s here for the job,” Din said, voice clipped. Not cold—controlled. Dangerous.

Xi’an raised a brow. “You sure? You used to like a little bite.”

Chloe wanted to say something. To shut her down, to fire something dry and cutting back in her face. But the weight of Din’s hand on her waist was grounding, and it held her there—steady. 

“That’s enough.” Din said simply.

Xi’an’s gaze lingered, testing him, testing her. Then she clicked her tongue and turned. “Guess you’re not as fun as you used to be.”

She sauntered off, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

The crew moved to follow. Chloe stayed quiet, walking just behind Din as the tension ebbed slightly.

His hand remained on her waist for a beat longer before he let go—just a second too long to be casual.

She was an unmitigated mess. Her skin tingled where his glove had been. She swallowed, trying not to think too hard. Everyone seemed to assume she was sleeping with the Mandalorian. She wasn’t.

And Force help her, she didn’t know how much longer she could keep her thoughts at bay.

She had laid back on some supply crates, trying to pretend like Xi’an’s gaze wasn’t burning a hole in her head. If I concentrate hard enough, maybe I can pretend I’m on Endor’s moon.

“So,” Xi’an purred, loud enough for everyone to hear, “how long did it take before Mando had you face-down on that bunk of his?”

Sweet suffering Maker.

“Excuse me?” she said measuredly, sitting up now.

“Oh don’t be shy,” Xi’an said, grinning like a predator. “Bet he couldn’t even wait ‘til you landed. Helmet half-on, pants half-off. All that beskar, all that brooding... I know what that does to a girl.”

Chloe said nothing. Her throat felt tight.

“We’re not—” she began.

Xi’an cut her off with a snort. “Oh please. I know how he gets when he’s frustrated. Bet you’ve had those pretty legs of yours shaking, huh?” That got Mayfeld’s head to snap around. Even Burg gave a grunt of discomfort.

Chloe flushed so hard she thought she might pass out.

“We’re not involved,” she said tightly. “We work together.”

“Sure,” Xi’an laughed. “And I didn’t have him whispering filth in my ear while he bent me over the console during cold storage on Kriton II.” She turned to Mayfeld. 

Boots clanged down from above.

“Enough.”

Din’s voice hit like a blade sheathed in durasteel. He stepped into view, the full weight of his armor—and silence—pulling the air tighter.

Burg squared up, puffing his chest. “Don’t even know why we need these two.”

“Apparently Mandalorians are the best warriors in the galaxy,” Mayfeld muttered.

“Then why are they all dead?” Burg barked, laughing.

 Chloe didn’t expect the sudden rush of anger to surge in her blood, for the first time in a long time reacting without thinking. 

 “Careful,” she said, her voice like cut glass. “Wouldn’t want blasters going off in confined space.”

Burg snarled.

“Hey Xi’an, you flew with him,” Mayfeld said quickly, trying to shift the attention. “Is he really as good as they say?”

Xi’an turned her blade over lazily. “Ask him about the job on Alzoc III.”

“I did what I had to.” Din’s voice was flat.

“Oh, you loved it,” she crooned. Then, with another slow smirk toward Chloe: “Tell me, sweet thing, does he still growl when he comes? Or did he save that just for me?”

“Stop.”

That time, it was a command. Pure iron. No room for rebuttal.

Even Xi’an blinked.

But apparently, it only spurred Burg on.

With a low snarl, the Devaronian lunged, grabbing at Mando’s chest plate. Chloe was already half-rising, ready to intervene, but she didn’t have to. The Mandalorian shifted his weight and sent Burg hurtling backward with a single, calculated motion.

The massive brute crashed into the side of the ship—slamming directly into the bunk controls.

A chime. A hiss. And the door slid open.

No. No. No—

The Child blinked up at them from within the shadows of the compartment. Wide eyes. Ears high. The softest sound, a little coo of surprise.

Kriff.

Everything in Chloe stilled—her lungs, her muscles, her thoughts. She moved without seeming to, stepping instinctively to put herself just slightly between the Child and the others, even as Mayfeld beat her to it.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, scooping up the tiny creature. “You two make this or something?” He glanced between Din and Xi’an, half-joking, half-appalled.

Chloe’s stomach turned over. If only it were that simple.

She didn’t answer. Neither did Din.

Mayfeld turned the Child upside down, inspecting him like faulty cargo. The Child babbled in response, confused but calm, bless him. Xi’an just snickered in that grating, all-knowing way. Chloe caught the tail end of a leer before she turned away, jaw tight.

Xero’s voice crackled through the ship’s comms.

“We’ve arrived.”

Chloe exhaled. Finally.

Never in her life had she been so relieved to see a floating prison barge.

She brushed past Mayfeld without looking at the Child again—her heart hammering, her thoughts a mess. They had to get through this job fast. Get back to the ship. Back to him.

Back to safety

The Jedi and Mandalorian sat exhausted in the hull of the Razor Crest. The Child was safely snoozing in his hammock, oblivious to the day his caregivers had. 

Mando sat on the edge of his bunk, chest plate off as he tended to a knife wound -undoubtedly left by Xi’an.

They hadn’t spoken since turning over Ran’s operation to the Republic. Mando seemingly silent from fatigue, his Jedi companion more so from stewing. 

She sat cross-legged near the supply crates, arms loosely wrapped around her knees. Her thoughts turned over and over—Xi’an’s words, the Child’s safety, the sting of having her presence in Din’s life reduced to speculation and smirks. It was exhausting, and it didn’t feel like it had left her body yet.

A low grunt made her glance up. Din was struggling with a field cauterizer, trying to seal the gash through his flight suit with a tool better suited for machinery than flesh.

Before she could think twice, Chloe stood and crossed the floor in a few quiet strides. She knelt in front of him and gently pried the makeshift device from his hand. He froze. His whole chest tensed under the pressure of her touch.

“I don’t need—”

“Just don’t, buckethead,” she murmured, not unkindly. A faint smile tugged at her lips, an attempt to defuse the moment.

He didn’t protest again.

She gathered the medkit supplies: antiseptic, gauze, tape stitches. But when she reached to clean the wound, her hand hesitated.

The gash was under his flight suit.

And he hadn’t unzipped it.

Of course.

Naturally.

This day has a theme.

Her hand hovered uncertainly at the seam of his collar. “May I—I mean, could I—you know…”

Where the hell had all her words gone?

Din tilted his helmet toward her, voice quiet. “Yeah. You can.”

She heard it this time—a trace of amusement, like a smile hiding behind the modulation. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was her flustered silence

Her fingers brushed the zipper, tugging it down just enough to reveal the deep slice along his ribs. Her face flushed instantly, though she kept her gaze on the injury like it might save her life.

The armor always made him seem larger than life. Imposing. Mythic. But underneath it, he was just… a man. Strong, scarred, painfully real. She took in the sweep of his chest, the defined muscle, the old, faded marks of other wounds. Her hands didn’t tremble, but something inside her did.

Not a blush. Not exactly. But a warm, spiraling awareness that wrapped around her breath and wouldn’t let go.

He smelled faintly of metal and leather and something uniquely him. She cleared her throat.

“Today was… Intense.” She muttered, mostly to keep her mind off his warm tan skin. 

“You ok?” He asked, voice concerned. She huffed a little laugh as she began cleaning the wound. Deep, but not life threatening. 

“I’m in one piece,” she said. “But I’ll be honest, Mando—” her gaze flicked up, her expression tight with weariness and just a sliver of amusement, “—I don’t think I can survive any more run-ins with your exes.”

A small huff passed through his vocoder -a laugh?

“We weren’t really together.” Mando said quietly. She let a small smile grace her face, applying the tape stitches now. 

“That may be so, but I think I’ve found out enough about your sex life to last me two lifetimes.” She wondered where her sudden boldness came from. She really needed sleep. “Me knowing your name is the least of your worries now.” She teased. 

She finished tending to his wound, packing away the med kit and rising to her feet with a weary grin. 

“Please refrain from bleeding on the blankets.” She was about to turn away, when a gloved hand caught her wrist. 

“Din.” 

She looked at him in confusion. “What?” 

“My name,” He answered, voice strained. “It’s Din.” 

The moment her footsteps faded and the supply crates creaked under her weight, Din finally let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Din.”

She’d said his name like a secret. Like she wanted to keep it safe.

His name. In her mouth. It had made something tighten low in his gut in a way that battle never could.

He sat still for a long time, armored fingers flexing at his sides. Across the hull, she’d wrapped herself in a blanket, back turned, shoulders tense. She hadn’t relaxed. Not fully. He could tell. She didn’t know how to—any more than he did.

But still, she’d touched him.

Carefully. Gently. With hands that didn’t shake, though her breath certainly had. She’d hovered like she didn’t know how to navigate a body up close.

And maybe she didn’t.

He hadn’t thought about it before. Why would he? But now… the signs were everywhere. The way she’d flushed at Xi’an’s taunts—not indignant, not embarrassed, but overwhelmed. Like someone who hadn’t played those games before. Who didn’t know the rules.

At first, it had confused him. She was brave. Fierce. She faced blasters and monsters with her chin high. But a suggestive comment? A zipper between her fingers? That had made her unravel.

And Maker help him… he found it endearing.

Not because it made her delicate. Not because it made her "pure." But because it meant the touch she gave him was rare. Considered. It wasn’t given lightly, and somehow, that knowledge settled under his skin hotter than any battlefield adrenaline ever had.

He tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this. Not like this.

But his mind wandered.

To the way her fingers had brushed against his skin. Hesitant. Careful. Her eyes flicking up at him like she’d stepped somewhere she wasn’t sure she was allowed to go.

He imagined her kneeling like that again—but not for medical care.

This time, her hands were on his thighs. Bare. Exploring.

This time, she wasn’t flustered from surprise. She was breathless from need.

She’d sit in his lap, legs spread over his, hips rolling slow while his hands gripped her waist. Her voice soft and needy in his ear, asking if it always felt like this. Asking if she was doing it right.

She would. She absolutely would.

And he'd show her.

His breath hitched, jaw tight beneath the helmet.

He could imagine it too well—her body trembling, flushed, head thrown back as he pushed her right to the edge of what she could handle. Then past it.

He’d make her say his name again.

Not soft like a gift, but raw. Wrecked. Broken over a moan that only he could pull from her.

He shifted, trying to ground himself, focus, but it was useless. The image had sunk into him like a firebrand.

And worse… it wasn’t just lust.

The Child had opened something quiet and steady in his chest—a softness he hadn’t known he still had.

But Chloe…

She made him feel loud. Off-balance. Human in ways he didn’t understand. Wanting in ways he hadn’t let himself be in years.

He didn’t know what this was between them. Didn’t dare name it.

But Maker, if she ever let him…

He clenched his fists, armor creaking softly with the motion.

Just for tonight, in the silence and shadow, he let himself want.

He let himself imagine.And deep down, buried beneath beskar and discipline and silence—he ached.

[coronetcast]

Chapter 5: The Gunslinger

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

Author's Note: When I said I damn near cried writing this chapter, I mean it. I love the father-daughter angst, I need it on tap.

She was up the cockpit ladder as soon as she felt the first shudder. The Child, squealing in terror -or excitement, she couldn’t tell- damn near floating out of his crib. Reaching out, she pulled him into her chest and secured them both in the copilots chair. 

The Mandalorian maneuvered the Crest artfully, dodging subsequent jets of bolts. Chloe swiveled in her seat, eyes trained on the rapidly blinking lights of the control panels in front of her. 

The second impact rocked the ships, sparks flying from overhead. The control panel began to screech in complaint, red warning lights ebbing angrily.

“Rear stabiliser is fried!” She called out, hands frantically smashing buttons. “I’m trying to reroute power but-” 

“I know,” Din said, voice hard and clipped through the modulator. He didn’t look at her. His hands were already moving, guiding the ship into a spiraling dive. “Strap in. This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

She steadied herself, stomach lurching as the Razor Crest spun into another steep dive. 

“You mean we haven’t hit worse yet?” She exclaimed. Over comms, the enemy pilot's voice crackled. 

“I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold.” 

Were she not so focused, she would have rolled her eyes. 

Bounty hunters really love the theatrics of it all. 

Din didn’t answer. Just throttled the engines, pulled a tight upward loop, and fired back.

“That’s my line.” 

The blast connected.

A bloom of light exploded in the darkness ahead, the enemy ship bursting into fragments that scattered like burning embers. The Razor Crest rattled again but steadied.

Chloe exhaled hard, forehead against the cool metal of the console. A small garbled coo came from her chest. She let out a small huff of laughter at the Child -he seemed to have enjoyed that. 

“Still in one piece, Bean?” She was met with a sharp excited cry. 

Din stood slowly, hands dropping from the controls. “We're hit bad. We need repairs.”

“Where?” Chloe asked, already knowing the answer.

He looked down at her. Even with the helmet, she could feel the grimace behind it.

“Tatooine.”

The name hit her like a blaster in the chest. Chloe blinked—not at the helmet staring back at her, but at the name. Tatooine. It had been years.

She’d only been back once after the Empire fell. She liked to say it was for a mission, but the Force had guided her. She knew why, of course. She just hadn’t been brave enough to follow the path it laid out. Not then.

She couldn’t go back—not after this long.

But something told her she didn’t have much of a choice this time.

“Fine,” she said, voice quiet. “Tatooine it is.”

Mando had been gone a while and for once she didn’t mind. She needed to be alone with her thoughts, if anything to decipher what was holding her back. In the distance of the dingy workshop, Peli Motto slept soundly with the Child cradled in her arms. 

Chloe knew Peli's sort, rambunctious and always ready to cut corners for credits. However, malicious? No. Besides she needed the little one occupied while she attempted to solder wires back together. And while she bargained with herself. 

The Force pulled, for others perhaps they knew it as intuition. For Chloe and many others like her, it yanked. She often found it odd when her father said the Jedi lost touch with the Force during the Clone Wars. She just couldn’t understand how they could ignore it. 

She was trying and it wasn’t going well.

It was practically pulling at every corner of her mind, she knew why. She needed to make peace with all that she had left behind in the desert. All the things that war and duty couldn’t quite smother. 

She had to make peace with Obi-Wan. 

Luke had told her that, too—rather spitefully, if she remembered correctly.

“You want to tell me about following the Force?” He sputtered incredulously. “You’re too afraid to see him, too afraid to confront it!” 

He was right, even if he had overstepped.

She knew her father lingered in the Force. She felt him every day. Especially since the Child—and the Mandalorian—had burst into her life.

It was like Obi-Wan was banging on the edges of her subconscious, trying to get in. But she couldn’t let that dam break. She had been holding it far too long.

“Hey!”

Chloe jolted hard—her forehead knocking the underside of the console. Groaning, she rolled out from beneath the panel and caught sight of Mando, standing over a groggy Peli. Her eyes flicked to his gloved hands—twitching slightly toward his blaster. Of course.

“Take it easy!” Chloe called out, getting to her feet. “Peli's just babysitting.” 

Peli gave a grateful nod, clutching the Child a little closer as she scooted back into her chair. “Didn’t mean any harm, big guy.”

But Mando didn’t look at her.

His helmet turned sharply toward Chloe, visor locking onto her like a targeting system. He crossed the distance between them in three long strides, shoulders squared, posture unreadable—but focused. Towering over her.

“What were you thinking?” His voice was low, clipped. Tightly wound.

Chloe blinked up at him, her tone defensive but steady. “She offered. I was trying to keep him calm while I worked.”

“You don’t know her.”

“She’s not a threat.”

“You don’t know that.”

He was looming closer, causing her to instinctively bring a hand up to his chest plate. The cool metal did little to soothe her rapidly heating skin, she didn’t lose her patience often but in her current state, she could stand in front a whole battalion of storm troopers and not be willing to take their shit. 

“Take. It. Easy.” She managed to grit out. “I have a better sense of people and I would not put him in harm's way. End of story.” For a moment, neither of them moved.

Her palm still pressed against his armor, pulse hammering in her wrist. The air between them was taut—his shoulders tense, her chin raised in challenge.

Then, slowly, she felt his breath stutter behind the helmet. Not a full sigh, not a retreat. Just the smallest shift.

“Next time,” he said, voice low and rough, “you tell me first.”

“Fine,” she snapped, pulling her hand back like she’d been burned. “Next time, don’t storm in like I just sold him for spice.”

A pause.

Behind them, Peli coughed awkwardly. “Uh… still here.”

The Mandalorian gave a terse nod and turned on his heel. 

“We’ve got a job.” He said simply. 

She watched his back retreat toward the ramp, stiff with tension. The clang of his boots echoed in the hangar, sharp and final.

Chloe let out a shaky breath and ran a hand down her face.

If she was honest—if she let herself look a little too closely—she knew the anger bubbling in her chest wasn’t only about the Child, or even the lack of trust.

It was the way he got under her skin. The way he crowded her space and made her feel small and large all at once. The way his voice—flat, clipped, impassive—still managed to tangle with something deep in her chest and pull.

And then there was the fact that her hand had lingered on his chestplate a second too long. That she’d felt the shape of him beneath it, heat radiating through beskar, and her body hadn’t exactly recoiled.

No, it had leaned in.

Chloe cursed under her breath and turned back to the Crest, forcing herself to focus. She didn’t have time for this. For him. For whatever ridiculous thing was happening in her head every time they stood too close or argued too hard.

They had credits to earn.

This cannot get kriffing worse. This cannot get worse.

Not only did she have to deal with Toro Calican’s insipid ogling, she didn’t even get her own fucking speeder?

She stared at the two bikes like they'd spat in her caf. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I can take the rookie,” she muttered, eyeing Toro with thinly veiled contempt. “I’ll even go slow.”

Toro perked up immediately, like a stray dog offered scraps. “I like the sound of that.”

Mando’s head snapped toward her. “You’re with me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re riding with me.”

There wasn’t room for negotiation in his voice—not even a millimetre of space. His tone wasn’t angry, just… final.

Chloe opened her mouth, then closed it again. Toro was smirking, clearly enjoying the tension for all the wrong reasons. “Fine,” she muttered, stomping toward the back of Mando’s speeder. 

She climbed on stiffly, grateful for the fact Bean didn’t have to bear witness to any of this. Still, when she gripped the sides of the speeder and Mando slid in close in front of her, she could feel every inch of heat radiating off his armor. Her fingers brushed his sides by accident—twice—and by the third time, he was practically growling.

“Stop squirming.”

“I’m not squirming,” she snapped, though her legs were pressed tight to the seat and her face was on fire.

He didn’t reply. Just throttled the engine, and they shot off across the desert—her heart pounding faster than the speeder.

Their bounty led them to the Dunes, past Tuskens -possibly the only people in the galaxy that Mando actually negotiated with. She was impressed, not that she would ever tell him that. 

“I’ll take first watch.” She offered, meeting no resistance. Positioning herself just behind the wall of the Dune, she watched the horizon dutifully for the flash of a muzzle. 

She doesn’t  know why she thought she would be undisturbed. 

“So,” Toro slid on to his side beside her, head propped on his hand. “You and the Mandalorian… How does that work?” 

“It doesn’t.” She replied bluntly, eyes never shifting. 

“Really? Sure looked comfy on his speeder…” 

“There were only two speeders.” She kept her tone even, bored. “And sadly you don’t have quite enough… experience to pull this job off with just Mando.” 

She hoped that would end the conversation, but somehow it only gave him more fuel. He leaned in closer, breath fanning across her face. It took everything she had not to recoil. 

“Oh I think you’d find I have more than enough experience sweethea-” 

“You done?” 

She let out a long breath, relief washing over her. Not that she didn’t think she could take the Rookie, it's just… just comforting knowing Mando was alert. 

Yeah that’s definitely it. 

“Just watching Mando.” Toro tried to play casual, but she heard the slight tremble in his voice. 

“Then go watch.” Mando answered coolly. She watched Toro’s form retreat to the other side of the now dark ridge. 

“Thanks.” She sighed. Mando didn’t move, towering over her in silence. 

A beat of silence. 

“He shouldn’t have been so close.” The vocoder couldn’t hide the terseness in his voice. 

Is he? No no… 

“If tried to turn a blaster on me he would regret it.” She gritted out. “Do you infantalise everyone you travel with?” 

“Only the naive ones.” Chloe damn near balked. 

Who the fuck is he calling naive? 

She held his gaze steady, lips pressed into a thin line. The edge in her eyes was quiet but unmistakable.

No words. No fight. Just simmering.

He was equally as silent, posture shifting as his vocoder crackled to life. 

“I don’t underestimate you.” His voice softened, just a fraction. “The kid needs you.”

Without another word, he turned away. No apology — not quite — just facts laid bare.

Chloe watched him go, caught between frustration and something heavier. She couldn’t decide which stung more: that she could have better conversation with a rock, or that beneath it all, she knew he was sorry.

Her fingers still buzzed with adrenaline, Toro’s betrayal still heavy in her bones. The Child had nearly been taken. Again. The guild wouldn't forget them after the chaos on Nevarro, and the Crest was barely holding together.

But she couldn't leave, not yet.

"Hey," she called softly, stepping toward Mando as he secured the last of the gear onto the freshly patched Razor Crest. The Child sat content in the sling across his chest, babbling to himself, blissfully unaware of the bounty still painted on their backs.

Din’s helmet turned to her, head tilting with quiet curiosity.

"I know we can’t stay long, but…” Her voice caught. “I was wondering if we could stick around just one more day.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “There’s something I need to do here.”

“What do you need to do?” His voice was clear, uncomplicated. A stark contrast to how complicated she felt. She sighed, hands idly fiddling with the  krayt dragon charm on her saber. 

“Remember how I said I grew up here?” The helmet nodded. “I haven’t been home in awhile and I just-” 

What did she want? 

“I just want to see if there’s anything I can salvage, I haven’t been back in over a decade.” And she didn’t know when she would be back again. 

Mando held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned. He descended the ramp without a word. A few clicks on his vambrace, and the ship began to seal behind them.

“Let’s go,” he said, as if it had been his idea all along. “We should make it quick.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his quiet certainty.

“Oh—no, you don’t have to come. I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” He cut her off gently. Then: “Where are we heading?”

As the speeder bike pulled up the dune, her former home came into view. Her throat and chest immediately tightened at the sight of the white dusty domed roof. Legs shaking, she tentatively let her boots hit the sand. 

Chloe Kenobi had faced countless battles, underground crime syndicates, suffering and torture. Countless nights where she didn’t know if she was going to see another dawn, conflict after conflict. Loss after loss. 

Nothing compared to the grief threatening to rip her asunder. 

“I’ll be quick.” She didn’t care how badly her voice shook, her feet were already leading her through the door. 

The aroma of clean laundry still hung faintly in the air, tinged now with the sand that settled over every surface. Everything was in its place, like they had never left. 

The wind picked up, the wind chime above the kitchen window singing. 

“Dad, look!” She squealed, pulling Obi-Wan by the hand to look out the window. 

“Slow down Chloe!” Obi-Wan chuckled. All he saw was a mess of black curls bobbing excitedly as his seven year old daughter hopped up and down. Overhead, ships were flying past. 

“They’re coming for Boonta Eve! Can we go see the podracing? Please?” She begged, clinging to his sleeve.  Obi-Wan chuckled fondly, stroking her hair. 

“Alright little Star, but we can’t stay long.” 

She had barely registered that she was on her knees, body wracking with subdued sobs. 

The floor was cold through her pants, the sand blowing through the cracks and doorways; settling like time itself. 

Her father’s tools still lay on the dining table, a long abandoned cup of tea next to it. Dry and clean, like he merely stepped out to the markets. Her hand flew to her stomach, a sob ripping from her throat against her will. 

Beyond the field of her grief, she felt Mando prickle. 

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, voice thick with tears. “I should have come back sooner.” 

A warm wind rustled through the house, the wind chimes murmuring once again. Gentle, like how she remembered his voice being. Her insides seemed to claw at themselves, desperate to hear it again. The pain in her chest only seemed to double, she couldn’t fight it anymore. 

A small green hand reached for her thigh. Sniffing, she turned her watery eyes to the Child. He looked concernedly up at her, soft coos falling from his mouth. 

“Hey Bean.” She choked out, picking him up and cradling him to her chest. His little head nestled into her now wet neck, clawed hands imitating a soothing stroke. She barely registered his little learnt behaviour before a warm gloved hand found her shoulder. 

She stiffened, not meaning to. She had barely felt Mando creep up on her, not that it surprised her anymore. She relaxed against his warm palm, the Child tucked tightly in her arms. A warm silence fell between them all, only the wind chiming swaying in the wind filling the dusk. 

She broke open. It hurt. 

But it hurt more trying to keep her shattered pieces carefully glued together.

[coronetcast]

Chapter 4: Sanctuary

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

The Razor Crest jolted out of hyperspace, but Chloe barely stirred from her meditation. If anything, the stillness helped. She always found it harder to concentrate while star systems streaked past at lightspeed.

She took a deep breath and settled onto her knees, palms resting loosely on her thighs. Each breath stretched the angry welts across her abdomen—gifts from the Imperial torture device. Focusing was hard. They stretched, giving way to a burning sensation. 

She tried to ignore it, turning instead to the ebb of the Force. Let it fill her, flow through her lungs like tidewater. It wouldn’t heal her—not fully—but it dulled the sting, a balm made of breath and focus.

Screaming.

She flinched, eyes still closed. She vaguely felt the landing equipment engage, and with it she was flooded with pure unadulterated fear. Not her own, no it was distant but close at the same time. Cowering, waiting for an invisible hand to strike. 

“Going to secure lodgings. Watch the kid.”

The Mandalorian’s vocoder shattered the silence. Chloe was grateful—it gave her something real to hold onto.

Chloe stood—slowly, stiffly—and snorted when she spotted a familiar green head toddling after him.

“Don’t think he wants to be watched,” she murmured with a small laugh, just as the ramp began to descend. The Child stood dutifully at Mandos feet, like a tiny, determined shadow.

She watched mirthfully as the Mandalorian sighed, relenting. 

“Ah, what the heck,” he muttered. “Come on, then.”

Despite being a backwater skughole—Mando’s words, not hers—Sorgan’s cantina was surprisingly pleasant. She was hit with the tantalising aroma of bone broth, mixing sweetly with the heady earthy scent of the forests around them. The Force danced lightly here, a sharp contrast to the echoes of fear that screamed at her when they first landed. 

They settled at a table and she watched as Mando’s visor stayed fixed on one point. Chloe quirked an eyebrow. 

“Care to clue me in?” She asked, voice low. “Or you’re going to keep staring at that woman, who by the way does not look like she wants to be stared at.” 

Chloe had seen her too, black hair and tight posture. She was former Rebel Alliance—Chloe clocked the resistance crest under her eye and the stance of someone who’d survived more than one close call. She would have told Mando as much. 

She didn’t get much of a chance—of course not—before he was on his feet, striding toward the stranger like a vibroblade with a mission. 

“Watch the kid.” 

She looked over the Child’s fuzzy green head, meeting his eyes. He cooed quizzically at her, earning a shrug in response. 

She rubbed her temple, wondering—not for the first time—how her father ever fell in love with a Mandalorian. If they were all like this, maybe she didn’t know Obi-Wan as well as she thought.

This man will be the kriffing death of me. And the kid’s going to clap when it happens.

She must’ve looked a sight — stripped to the waist, a black bra the only thing protecting her modesty as she struggled — and failed — to apply bacta gel to the welts singing across her skin.

 She imagined she looked like a dog trying to bite its own tail, covered in a slick sheen of sweat from her exertion. 

Omera was kind enough to provide her some extra bandages and med supplies she had lying around. Chloe almost wished she had asked the women to stay and help her, yet a part of her didn’t want to shake Omera’s confidence in the “mercenaries” her village had hired. 

Another grunt of effort. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Chloe sighed, collapsing back into her cot, chest heaving. She felt it then, that small flicker in the Force that was starting to become familiar. 

“You need help.” 

She marveled at how Mando just said things — no inflection, no buildup. Just action.  She turned her head towards the doorway, taking in the wall of beskar that now blocked it. 

Then the haze broke and she flushed crimson. 

“I-I’m fine.” Chloe stuttered, now hyper aware that she was just in her bra and utility pants. In front of the Mandalorian. 

Stars swallow me please.

If he heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead he approached her cautiously, helmet scanning all the med supplies strewn about her cot. She watched as he wordlessly picked up the bacta gel and began taking off his gloves. 

She averted her eyes immediately. 

It felt wrong to look, was it against his creed? Or was it just his face? She heard him shuffle slightly and then his fingers were on her skin, spreading the cool bacta gel.

She let out a high-pitched keen, unsure if the heat rushing through her was from pain or the mortifying fact that she’d made that sound in front of another person. 

Am I dying? 

The heat building in her body couldn’t just be from the welts. He was insufferably close, the smell of leather, smoke and something just uniquely him had filled her senses. She couldn’t help but look down at his hands, tan and large but delicately tending to her wounds. She tried to even out her breaths, focusing on the scars and calluses that littered his hand. For whatever reason, that only made it worse. 

Oh I am definitely dying. 

She wasn’t going to sit here and pretend that she was the most experienced woman in the galaxy. She had spent her first nineteen years of life in the Judland Wastes, her rebellion life was covert and solitary and any subsequent years weren’t really much different. She had lived a life of discipline, war and high stakes. That didn’t leave much room for sensuality. 

Even so, she shouldn’t be this bad. 

The Mandalorian was silently bandaging her now and Chloe was sure she was going to leap from her skin. He touched her with so much delicateness, as if she would break. As if she hadn’t pushed him into a wall a mere 24 hours ago. 

By the Force, am I a pervert?

“Didn’t know Mandos doubled as field medics.” She managed to croak out. Mando didn’t look up, tightening the bandages and tying them off. 

“It’s not standard.” He replied. “I’ve been burned before.” 

He finished his work and before she could register it, he was heading for the door. She thought he would leave without a word, but he paused. 

“If it gets worse, tell me.” 

And then he was gone — swallowed by the night, like he’d never been there at all.

“Keep your stance low and your feet grounded!” Chloe called, pacing in front of a line of wide-eyed villagers clutching spears like lifelines. “The moment they catch you off balance, you’re dea—”

She stopped mid-sentence, watching them stiffen like frightened animals.

“—you’re not going to be having a good time,” she amended, wincing inwardly. A few chuckles broke through the tension. Behind her, Cara Dune barked a laugh.

“You and Mando both suck at bedside manner, huh?” she teased, clapping a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. Chloe bit back a wince. “Alright, again from the top!”

Chloe stepped aside, letting Cara take over the drills while she observed.

Her father used to say that battle was theatre — every soldier a performer, every strike a choreographed beat. It sounded poetic coming from him. Strategic. Rehearsed.

But he was Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Negotiator. 

She was bruised, half-healed, and trying to teach farmers how to stab without tripping over their own feet.

And now there was a kriffing walker in the mix.

Not that she didn’t trust Mando and Cara’s plan. It was sound — clever, even. But clever didn’t mean safe.

A rustle behind her.

“How are your injuries?” She just barely kept from flinching. For someone built like a tank, Mando moved like a shadow.

“Better,” she lied with a smile. “Thank you.”

He nodded, his visor shifting toward the villagers as they ran through drills with renewed urgency.

“You clear on the plan?” She nodded. “What do you think?”

The question caught her off-guard. She hadn’t expected him to ask. She hadn’t expected her opinion to matter.

“It’s the best option we’ve got,” she said carefully. “Not ideal. But nothing ever is.”

He nodded again, taking that in without comment. She hesitated.

“I worry about the walker,” she added. “But… worse comes to worst, I can cut through it.”

She’d done it before. Once. On a full-sized AT-AT during a raid she barely escaped from. But she was younger then. Braver. Or stupider. And not covered in healing welts.

“You think you can handle that?” No judgment in his voice — just a glance toward her ribs. The question came from concern, not doubt.

She let out a quiet laugh.

“Like I said,” she murmured, “worse comes to worst.”

Worse had happened.

The night only sharpened the red glow of the AT-ST’s eyes — a towering goblin skulking just beyond the krill ponds.

“It’s stopped.” Cara’s words sent a cold chill down her spine. Chloe’s hand immediately flew to her belt, the cold metal of her saber contrasting with her now too warm hands. 

They were hit with a sudden white flash. 

It’s scanning us. 

Then all hell broke loose. She felt them before they came thundering out the trees, at least 20 Klootonian raiders. 

“Open fire!” 

Blaster fire lit up the night, a deafening chorus crashing against the howls of raiders. Peering over their cover, Chloe could see the walker was still with guns engaged. She barely saw the gun power up before a cabin behind them exploded.

Her blood ran cold. The children were in the furthest hut — far from safe, and far from her. Especially with that walker blasting without rhyme or reason. The thought of the Child cowering and afraid spurred her on, despite the skin of her abdomen screaming for her to stop. 

She holstered her blaster, scrambling to her feet as she called out “Cover me!” 

The night lit up yellow, the walker's eyes tracking directly to her. The Force crackled around her, a familiar song in a chaotic storm. She closed her eyes just once, whispering for strength — and the Force answered.

Moving quicker than any of the raiders anticipated, she cut a path through them heading directly for the walker. Saber poised, she leapt on to the right leg and slashed. The metal separated cleanly, the walker began to tip. Leaping again, she aimed for the cockpit. Slashing through the glass, she came face to face with its pilot. 

All the villagers on the ground saw was said pilot flying on to the ground before the walker crashed. 

Chloe tumbled to the ground, rolling out of harm's way as she watched the raiders flee. Grinning, she turned to the celebrating villagers. Extinguishing her saber, she let the hush of peace wash over her.

Cara and Mando were the first to approach her. 

“You’re a kriffing Jedi?!” Cara exclaimed, pulling her into a one armed hug. Chloe laughed, the sound dry and croaky. 

“In my defense, you never asked.” She joked, earning a playful shove from the shock trooper. 

She felt a gloved hand on her arm, instantly recognising the warmth. 

“Good work.” She laughed again. Even after facing death, Mando was still a man of few words. 

Still she relished how his hand lingered on arm, even if she could never fully admit that to herself. 

“You too Mando.” 

The weight of her pack felt heavy as she absentmindedly watched the Child try to eat another frog. She smiled to herself, crouching down to his height just as the frog leapt out of reach again.

“Hey, Bean,” she whispered, coaxing his attention. “Come here a second, sweetheart.”

He toddled toward her, little claws outstretched. With less effort than expected—thank whoever invented bacta gel—she scooped him into her arms.

“I just wanted to see you before—” She hesitated. The words caught uncharacteristically in her throat. “—Before I left.”

The Child cooed softly in her arms, a subdued, uncertain sound.

“Hey now, this is a great place to be!” she said, trying to reassure him. “You’ve got lots of friends. More creepy crawlies than you can count. Just try to eat some cooked food, okay?”

Her attempt at humor didn’t perk up his ears. She stroked them gently between her fingers, something tight and painful pressing against her ribs.

Maker, this is hard.

“We’ll always be connected, you and I,” she murmured, looking into his wide brown eyes. “The Force links us all. So if you need me, really need me… just call. I’ll be there.”

He didn’t respond. But she felt the shift in him—acceptance. Resigned.

And he wasn’t the only presence she sensed.

“You’re leaving.”

Chloe closed her eyes and resisted the sarcastic comment that immediately sprang to her tongue. She swallowed it, like she swallowed the tight ache in her chest at the sound of his voice.

“If the Client’s still tracking me, it’s best I move on,” she said, turning. “For his sake.”

She faced him fully. The beskar, as always, gave away nothing. But she didn’t need to see his face to feel it—he was… unsettled. Almost hurt. Like something inside him hadn’t caught up to her decision yet.

“He could have a good life here,” she added. “A safe life. You could too.”

Still silence. She’d gotten used to that, more than she wanted to admit.

“Besides,” she said with a forced smirk, “I give you two months before you and Omera are hitched. Not sure if krill blue is your color though.”

The joke cut deeper than she expected. She wondered if it showed.

Mando’s voice was quiet when it came. “Is that what you want?”

Kriffing hells no.

The truth clawed up her throat, desperate to be known—but she forced it down, like always. He was too much. Too steady. Too kind beneath the armor. She didn’t know when she’d come to crave his presence after dinner, or when his silence started to feel safer than words. Or when the way he tilted his helmet when annoyed became the highlight of her day.

And that’s why she had to leave.

Before she could answer—before she could betray herself—her skin prickled.

A shot rang out.

She didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. Her saber was in her hand in an instant, igniting with a snap-hiss as she cradled the Child protectively to her chest.

Beside her, Mando had already drawn his blaster.

Looks like they weren’t out of the woods just yet.

[coronetcast]

Chapter 3: The Sin

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

Warnings: canon typical violence, torture, implied forced impreg

Nevarro hung in space like a smoldering coal. 

The Razor Crest -wizard name, Chloe begrudgingly admitted- shot out of hyperspace with little effort, beginning their descent to the surface almost immediately.  

To her side, the Child stared at her from his crib. He seemed to know, his behaviour deflated and his thoughts inward. She rested a reassuring hand on his head, mustering a brave smile for him. 

“Easy there Bean.” She whispered. “I’ll be there with you.” She didn’t know how long that would stay true, but she would think of something. 

The ship hummed and hissed as it finally landed on the planet's surface. Through the cockpit window, all she could see were lava flats as far as the horizon stretched. 

Mando was quick to his feet, binding her hands and pulling her to her feet. Nudging her gently, he urged her down the ladder and into the hull.

“Don’t try anything.” The vocoder on his helmet crackled. 

“You’re really going to do this?” She hissed. All that met her was a wall of beskar and a hand now shoving her more forcefully forward. 

“He’s only a child.” She continued. “You and your people know what the Imperials are capable of.” 

The silence between them was electric, she could sense that she had misstepped but she was honestly too desperate to care. One last chance before she took things into her own hands, a part of her begged him to rethink. 

She had no fondness for her Mandalorian captor, but she sensed the conflict within him. She could use his help to get out of this, she was woman enough to admit she needed his help. 

“Keep moving.” 

She pivoted quickly then, driving her shoulder into his side. The Mandalorian stumbled backwards but didn’t fall, it didn’t matter all she needed was the space. Reaching out with the Force, her lightsaber unclipped from his belt and landed in her hand. 

The hull of the ship lit up in warm yellow light as Chloe Kenobi raised her blade in her now unbound hands. 

“You’re not a monster, don’t act like one.” She didn’t know why she was still pleading. Had he been anyone else, she would have subdued him by now. 

He is just someone else. 

The reminder fell on deaf ears. 

“You’re injured.” He reminded her, voice dripping in disdain. She mustered a dry puff of laughter. 

Side stepping, she swung at his beskar free side. He was quick on his feet, swerving out the way and bringing his vambrace up to block her blow. The beskar began to heat and glow, startling Mando. Channeling the Force, she allowed it to direct her hand; sending him  flying backwards into the hull. 

He was down but still conscious, seemingly stunned by what just happened. Running with his bewilderment, Chloe grabbed the crib and made for the ramp. She was halfway down, she could see a ship yard ripe for the picking.  

“Ow!” Her hand flew to her neck, feeling a cylindrical object in her neck. She pulled out with a wince, barely recognising the tranq dart before her vision began to fray and blur. 

Her knees buckled and she put her hands out in front of her, expecting to hit the ground. Instead she felt an arm grip across her waist and pull her into the air. The edges of her vision were blackening, just about making out the familiar brown cape draped across the Mandalorian’s back. 

“In this galaxy, monsters are the only ones left standing.”

The light was harsh, beating down on her as her eyes strained to open.

She groaned low in her throat, the side of her head screaming in pain. Her skull felt like it was splitting open and the bright light was not helping. She could feel cold metal digging into her back, as tight straps held her upright and in place. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” 

Chloe tried focusing her eyes, finally arriving on a blurry figure on the other side of the room. Even through her haze, she recognises the crisp black uniform of an imperial officer. She tried to reach out to the force, trying to steady herself. However, whatever the Mandalorian knocked her out still lingered in her system, making it nearly impossible.

“We have been waiting a very long time to make your acquaintance.” The officer continued. 

He came into focus now, short cropped hair and sharp snively features. He hardly cut a picture of intimidation, it was more the sick way he stared at her. Like she was a gem he had spent years trying to procure. 

“My apologies, I was preoccupied.” Chloe wheezed. The officer quirked an eyebrow. 

“Oh I am aware, you see the Empire has been following your career closely. Chloe Kenobi; Jedi acting under the ghost operative “Wraith”. You’ve dismantled quite a few of our operations.” He rattled off her title as if he had memorised it. 

“Am I here so you could sing my praises in person?” She gritted out. 

The officer gave me a tight lipped smile. 

“While your achievements are singularly impressive, we have further use for your… talents.” She was unnerved by the way he seemed to savor that last word. “Indeed, you would be serving a greater purpose in the reconstruction of the Empire. Are you familiar with cloning?” 

“You intend to clone me?” She laughed, the pain flaring yet again. 

“No.” The officer replied, curt for the first time. “No, cloning such a donor would prove unstable.” 

She waited for him to continue.

“Cloning force sensitivity is incredibly difficult.” 

She felt her blood run cold, her thoughts instantly jumping to the Child. She pushed against her restraints, the metal rattling. 

“We would need a viable host to ensure our clones-” 

“You touch one hair.” She warned, eyes zeroed in on the officer. “One hair on that child’s head and I will hunt down every remaining Imp bastard this galaxy has to offer.” 

The air around her crackled dangerously. The officer sighed, seemingly unfazed. 

“Now that’s not very helpful.” 

She heard a click, then her nerves began to fry. Chloe cried out as the volts of electricity passed through her frame. 

“I really had hoped we could be amicable.” 

The volts were directly on her skin, where they had attached the plug sparks through her ripped top. Her exposed abdomen felt like it was frying, her screams trapped in her mouth as her entire body shuddered and jolted. Around her, the Force shrieked like a thousand voices unrelenting.

Then a shift. A ripple. 

The blast doors gave way with a shriek, durasteel and stone vaporising. Chloe slumped forward, body finally free from the currents. Saliva pooled in her mouth, she swallowed with difficulty. 

Familiar gloved hands undid her binds, her arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. 

“I’ve never been happier to see you Buckethead.” She croaked, allowing the Mandalorian to support her weight. “Did you do something new with your hair?” 

His armour was no longer red and worn, but silver and shining. Slung around his shoulder, a brown satchel with a soft breathing lump and a large green ear sticking out of it. 

Huh, an actual knight in shining armor. 

“How bad are you hurt?” He asked, looking over the angry welts on her ribs. 

“Shock rash, I’ll live.” She winced as he unplugged the electrodes from her skin. In the back of her mind, a small niggly thought relished the way his gloved hands brushed over her bare skin. 

“For now.” He agreed, reaching for his belt and pulling out her saber. The thin hilt glinted silver, the wooden totem still securely attached. “You’re going to need this, we’re not out yet.” 

Her instincts sharpened through the pain, finally aware of the danger pressing in on them. 

“How close are we to being out?” She questioned. 

“Not even close.” 

The Razor Crest climbed steadily into orbit, engines groaning, the quiet hum of escape settling thick between them.

Chloe slumped against the wall of the hull, her muscles still twitching from the aftershock of what they’d done to her. If that wasn’t enough, she was still reeling from seeing that many Mandalorians in one place. 

Ten year old Chloe would have thrown up from the excitement.

Across from her, Din stood silent. The Child slept peacefully in the satchel at his side, small fingers curled around the edge.

He hadn’t spoken since the firefight. Not a word. Not until now.

“What are you?” His voice cracked through the silence.

Chloe didn’t look up.

“You moved things without touching them. You have a weapon that can heat up pure Beskar.” 

Still, she said nothing.

“And the kid. The things he does… floating stuff. Stopping monsters mid-air.” His voice sharpened. “You’re the same.”

That made her lift her head. Her eyes met the blank T of his visor.

“We’re not the same,” she rasped. “But we’re... alike.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re hunted.”

“By who?”

“The Empire and anyone in their pocket”

He stared at her like she was speaking another language — because, in a way, she was. He didn’t know what Force-sensitivity was. He didn’t know what she was. All he knew was that the galaxy wanted both of them in chains.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

“So are you,” she replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “But don’t get cocky. I’ve tangled with worse.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She inhaled carefully, the weight of her lightsaber still in her lap — returned to her without a word of distrust.

“There are people in this galaxy,” she said slowly, “who can feel the world move. Not just see it. Not just react to it. Shape it. They do so using the Force, the very essence of life that binds everything in this universe. There used to be thousands like us, Jedi. The kid… he and I are Force-Sensitive. And that’s all you really need to know.”

Din took a step forward, tense. “You expect me to keep protecting him without knowing what he is? What you are?”

“I just told you what we are.” she shot back, her tone softer now, almost amused. "What more do you wanted? You already know I'm ex-Rebel."

He didn’t respond, but his hand ghosted near his blaster. Not threatening — reflex. Chloe sighed.

“I’m not your enemy, Mando. If I was, you’d know.”

He seemed to chew on that. Then finally:

“Why don’t you just take him?”

Her jaw clenched.

“Because they’re still looking for me. And if I have him, they’ll find him faster. What they want to do to him... what they tried to do to me... it’s better if they think we’re separate.”

He looked down at the Child. At the tiny sleeping face, so trusting, so small.

Silence fell between them.

After a long pause, he unhooked the satchel and set it gently on the floor next to her. “Watch him while I fly.”

She looked down at the Child. Her fingers brushed the tip of his ear.

“Hey, Bean,” she whispered. “We’re not safe yet. But we’re safer.”

Din paused at the ladder to the cockpit.

“I still don’t understand you,” he muttered.

Chloe gave him a sly grin. “That’s the point.”

[coronetcast]

Chapter 2: The Child

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

She would laugh if she weren’t in a world of pain already. She watched as the Mandalorian attempted (and succeeded) in vapourising Jawas who were actively dismantling his ship. She was no stranger to the scavengers nor their travelling fortresses and in any other situation she would be pissed to be stuck on this god forsaken planet. 

But in this situation, she relished Mando’s frustration.

“Stay here.” He commanded, rushing after the Jawas fortress. Chloe exchanged a glance with the Child, shrugging to him. 

Where else is there to go? 

Slowly -and painfully- she and the Child made their way to the flat ground next to the gutted ship. All the while, she watched half amused and half impressed as this Mandalorian scaled the travelling Jawa palace. 

All her amusement faded when the Mandalorian came hurling down it. 

“Shit, shit…” She hobbled over to his still body, cursing the Maker for killing her one ride off this stupid planet. She was about to reach for her saber on his belt, when Mando gasped awake. 

“Thank the maker!” Chloe sighed, genuinely meaning it. “I was beginning to think I’d have to steal a ship.” 

The Mandalorian groaned, lifting a gloved hand to his helmet as if rubbing his forehead beneath it. “You’d never make it past orbit.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” she said dryly, “but given your current track record with sand crawlers, I like my odds.”

She noted the stiffness in his shoulders and back as he rose to his feet. He was badly bruised at best, concussed at worst. Beside her the Child stared on in concern, it unnerved her how attentive he was to this bounty hunter. 

She figured he was just young and naive.

“Looks like we’re grounded for a while.” She muttered, shooting a half hearted smile the Child’s way. 

“Only until I get my parts back,” Mando rasped, dragging his feet.

“Ambitious. I admire that in a man with a probable concussion.” He ignored her, assessing the damage on his ship. 

“What were you even trying to do?” She questioned.

“Get my parts back.”

“By climbing a moving fortress of thieving, aggressive Jawas?”

A beat passed. “It’s worked before.”

Chloe blinked. “You do this often?”

She watched as Mando disappeared into his ship, reluctantly she followed. 

She hadn’t encountered a gunship like it during the Rebellion, definitely Old Republic era. Still, if she had to hazard a guess from the portable carbonite freezer, she would say it was a bounty hunter’s wet dream. 

A sudden bang echoed in the shredded ship’s walls. On instinct, Chloe stood on defence and immediately winced as the pain flared in her side. 

Dank farrik!

She desperately tried to steady her breathing as she watched the Mandalorian storm away from what she assumed was a now empty weapons locker. Faintly, she recalled Obi Wan saying how the Mandalorian culture centred around their armor, weapons and war. Basically, the antithesis of Jedi. 

Hells, who was she to judge? She’d seen enough and participated in enough battles and bloodshed to fill two lifetimes. Chloe knew she could argue all day that it was in the name of democracy and putting an end to tyranny -she would do it again- but war is war. There is never truly a winner.

“Come on, we’re going after my parts.” Mando said, pulling the crib along. Her hand flew out and grabbed the crib, halting him in his path. 

“Taking a baby for a wander in the desert after Jawas is a phenomenally stupid idea.” She hissed out of gritted teeth. She wasn’t met with anything, other than a cold visor assessing her. 

“Is it a better idea to leave him with you? Here?” He asked coldly. “There are worse things than Jawas in this desert, especially to someone injured and unarmed.” 

“Perhaps not, but you’ve proven you can’t take on their crawler alone either.” Chloe rebutted. The Mandalorian turned and began to walk away.

“That’s why we’re getting help.”

She had met plenty of Ugnaughts before, intelligent and stand-offish. Not Kuiil, no she noticed he carried himself with wisdom and patience. He didn’t disregard her simply as the Mandalorians bounty, instead regarding her curiously. He was even kind enough to part with a bacta injection for her rib.

Chloe was even more surprised that Kuiil agreed to help Mando get his parts back. 

“Remember, the Jawas strip, they do not destroy. We will be able to negotiate.” Kuill stated as they approached the crawler. 

She couldn’t help but pass a sideways glance to the Mandolarian, vaporiser set staunchly in his grip. 

“With Jawas? Are you out of your mind?” He questioned. 

“I speak Jawa.” She revealed hesitantly, still looking at Mando. “I can try my hand at a negotiation.” Kuiil nodded, Mando simply tilted his helmet quizzically at her. “I’m from Tattoine.” 

The sand crawlers often passed through the Judlands, bringing spare parts they couldn’t find at the trading port. Her father had always emphasised the advantage of diplomacy, she thought it was just because he was so naturally good at it. 

She had to work on it. 

They stopped in front of the anxious Jawas, blasters drawn straight at them. She raised her bound hands slowly, clicking her tongue to get their attention. The nasally words sounded clunky in her mouth. She was met with a chittering reply and laughter. 

“Did that one just call me a moisture sponge?” Chloe huffed. Another chittering reply. 

“Hey, watch who you call a blaster jam you womp rat!” Mando growled lowly beside her. 

“Do they understand this?” Flames erupted from wrist, startling Chloe so much she fell on her ass. The Jawas began to scatter and yelp. 

Thankfully Kuiil was there to diffuse the situation. The Jawas chittered again. 

“What do they mean they want an egg?” Chloe asked. 

“An egg?” Mando said flatly. Kuill regarded them both for a moment before nodding. 

“I know the one they speak of.” 

The wait was brutal, especially since she had been left behind. She sat cross-legged on the metal floor of the crawler’s ramp, willing herself to sit within the cradle of the Force. 

Fear clouds your judgement, trust in the Force. 

The bounty hunter refused to take her due to her injury, despite her protests that she was healed. Worse yet he took the Child, and her kriffing saber. Chloe drew in a large breath. 

The Force will guide you. 

Following the will of the Force wasn’t something that the Jedi Order particularly advised, but Chloe Kenobi didn’t have an order to turn to. She had her father and Luke once, now she only had herself. 

When the Rebellion ended, she could have helped Luke rebuild the Order or gone on to serve the New Republic. But she felt the Force tug her elsewhere, to suffering in the Galaxy where the Empire still lurked. 

Luke couldn’t understand that, couldn’t understand why she didn’t think rebuilding the Order in a new version would be a good idea. Couldn’t understand why she believed Jedi should listen to the Force and centre the light-side more than following doctrine - no matter how modified and well intentioned.

Luke refused to understand. 

She felt the Force around her bleed with her hurt, snapping at her skin. Another large breath dispelled the discomfort. 

“They should be back by now.” She could sense Kuiil’s unease before he spoke. Her eyes remained closed, searching the ether for the Child’s force signature. It was there, faint. Drawing… closer? 

Her eyes flew open, spotting a figure approaching in the distance. As the Mandalorian drew closer, she let out a breath as she saw the Child’s crib gliding next to him. 

She could sense something had changed. The Mandalorian was clearly injured, but he seemed… he seemed like he was contemplating. She opened the crib to find the Child sound asleep; Chloe swallowed hard. 

She had an inkling of what might have happened. 

Mando set to work with practiced precision, pulling out the parts the Jawas had returned — a jumble of scraped metal and circuitry that looked like a puzzle made by a child with a blaster.

“Help me with the conduits,” he said without looking up.

Chloe rose slowly, still sore but determined. “Which ones?”

He pointed. “The main power feed runs here… this one’s scorched. We’ll need to splice it.”

As they worked side by side, Chloe’s fingers brushed against his gloved ones as they passed a tool back and forth. A brief spark of warmth flared in her chest, quickly masked by the grit and grime of their task.

“He’s quiet.” Mando remarked, subtly nodding towards the Child asleep in his crib. 

“Well observed.” She said dryly, continuing her work. She could sense he wanted to say more, to ask more. 

Instead he simply turned back to his work. 

Even if she had the answers, the Mandalorian would have to torture her to reveal them. She had tried. To gently ask permission to pry into the Child’s mind, but he was riddled with fear and she wasn’t about to push him. He was like her, that’s all she needed to know right now. 

Survive first, plan later.

[coronetcast]

Chapter 1: The Mandalorian

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

Kriffing hells, I’ve really done it this time. 

Chloe could almost feel her father’s lecture from the great beyond, a dry quip carried by the Force straight to her ears. 

“Do you plan on making a habit of biting off more than you can chew?” The phrase was so frequently said throughout her childhood, she was sure it was ingrained in her brain. In most instances, Obi Wan was correct in admonishing his daughter and padawan. Especially this instance.

The compound on Aravala-7 was crawling with mercs, sleemo barbarians who were barely holding off the Bounty Hunter’s guild. They had kept her tied up for days now, rationing food and water her way to keep her weak. Not that she cared much, she utilised meditation to stave off the worst of the starvation. 

She was simply glad they were feeding the child. She knew that didn’t do it out of well meaning kindness, more that the Imps wanted the baby healthy. All her intel pointed to imperial experimentation, but even her old rebel contacts couldn’t help her pinpoint to what end. 

And she couldn’t ask Luke.

Blaster fire shook her from her thoughts. The Nikto guards around her sprang to action, shouts echoing off the walls around them. Chloe glanced at the Child, sensing his fear. Reaching out with her mind, she shut his bassinet closed. Her lightsaber felt heavy from where it hid safely in her boot - she was genuinely surprised the mercs held off the guild for as long they did, idiots - the hilt digging into her ankle. 

She didn’t draw it just yet, from what she could hear there was heavy artillery cannons. She couldn’t keep herself and the Child safe under such heavy fire, let alone escape. 

Where would we even go? 

Chloe shoved that thought down. Survive first, plan later. As the blaster fire continued outside their door, she scooted closer to the Child. He was still afraid under his durasteel dome, but his presence in the Force exuded something else. Trust. Trust in her. 

That helped her steel herself against her coursing adrenaline. In the Rebellion, she served as a spy. A ghost operative, she always had the element of surprise. Not that she couldn’t hold her own without it, but she would have loved any sort of upper hand right now. 

The shouts grew more agitated by the second, blaster fire now sporadic. She could sense the Nikto numbers thinning. 

Then came the shrieking of metal bending. On instinct, Chloe grabbed the pram and pulled it back, narrowly dodging cannon bolts. She leapt to her feet, lightsaber flying to her hand as she placed herself in front of the floating orb. She should have ignited her blade, cut through whoever came through that door. Yet, she felt the overwhelming need to wait.

The door finally gave way, falling with a crash. 

Chloe squinted through the dust. At first she thought she was facing two droids, before the sand gave way to a clear picture. 

Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

She had never seen a Mandalorian before, but she had seen holopics. And there he stood, although she did note he looked rather scruffy despite the Besakr. Scruffy, but not less intimidating. Next to him towered an IG hunter droid, both of them had their blasters drawn. 

A faint beeping came from the two bounty hunters. The Mandalorian was the first to pull out the two - now rapidly - beeping bounty pucks. 

“I see only one of the assets.” The IG unit assessed. He took a step forward and Chloe instantly matched him. She knew she should draw her blade, but it was like something was screaming at her to stay hidden. 

���One more step droid, I dare you.” Chloe growled. The droid froze, clearly running an analysis. However, it was the Mandalorian who answered her. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats.” His voice was monotone and deep. She let out a huff, a cross between a laugh and an invitation.  Chloe wasn’t a fool, she knew he was right. A droid was easy game, but a Mandalorian in full beskar? Yeah she would be pushing her luck in her current state. 

“Not up for the challenge, Bucket-head?” It was empty bravado, but she had to try.  Even a distraction would allow her to cut through her binds and escape with the child. 

Wait. 

“She conceals the asset behind her.” The IG swung at her, connecting painfully with her side and throwing her at the Mandalorians feet. Before she could think, the Mando snatched her saber from her hands and advanced on the crib.  

“Don’t.” Chloe coughed weakly, ribs crying out in pain. “He’s just a child.” 

The Mandalorian paused, helmet tilting towards her briefly before he opened the crib. Her vision was blurring with black spots as she tried to crawl towards thems. 

“The bounty said he was 50 years old.” The Mando stated. 

“Different species age differently.” the droid answered matter of factly. “Commencing asset termination sequence.” 

Chloe’s eyes blew wide, a grunt of anger passing between her lips. She tried to reach out with the force, but all she was met with was the sharp pain in her ribs. 

“Wait, the client wants them alive.” The Mandalorian urged. The IG persisted. 

“My orders are to terminate the asset.” It said, raising a blaster. Chloe watched in horror as a red flash crossed in front of her. 

To her relief, the droid fell. 

She watched in hazy silence as the Mandalorian reached a finger out for the Child to hold. To her surprise, the Child took his finger with little hesitation. 

“What do they want with him?" She wasn’t sure if the Mandalorian was talking to her, but she replied anyways. 

“I don’t know.” Lying through gritted teeth seemed like the only leverage she had right now. All she had were lies, and a possible broken rib that she really didn't want to think about.

“Can you stand?” the bounty hunter asked dryly. She winced, shakily getting to her feet despite her rib screaming in pain.  The Mandalorian didn’t move to help her, only watching cautiously. 

“Let me guess? You’re going to shoot me too?” She croaked. 

“Like I said, you’re wanted alive.” Chloe scoffed at that and tried to ignore the blood she was tasting. She looked amusedly into the dark t-visor. “I can’t imagine why Imps would want me alive.” The helmet tilted curiously. 

“Who said anything about imperials?” He replied dryly. 

Her blood spiked at that. Either he knew and was playing her or he didn’t and was marching them to their deaths. Fucking Maker,  she could not stand bounty hunters. 

“Call it an educated guess.” 

Outside, the air smelled like blaster fire and burning flesh. No amount of battles or shoot outs made that smell less repulsive to her. He started to push the crib forward, nudging her just hard enough to get her to move. 

As they passed the dropped corpses of her former captors, Chloe caught the flash of her lightsaber on the Mandalorians belt, wooden krayt dragon charm clinking against the slim hilt. He must have seen where her gaze lingered, his hand coming to rest on his blaster

“I need you breathing,” the Mandalorian said. “Everything else is optional.”

Chloe’s throat went dry.

He didn’t have to yell. He didn’t even need to aim his blaster. The cold finality in his voice said it all — she was only standing because he let her.

Fucking bounty hunters.

[coronetcast]

Prologue

Masterlist

Had Obi Wan ever thought he knew devastation before, now he felt he embodied it. All the darkness the Clone Wars had wrought couldn’t compare to watching the temple burn, even now as he sat on the shuttle he could still feel the smoke choking him. He could not push the images away, especially the creche.

A small cry in his arms disrupted the Jedi’s thoughts. Luke stirred in his sleep, fitful as the shuttle entered Tattoine’s orbit. In Obi Wan’s other arm, the other child slept peacefully. The Jedi rocked the fussy infant, relieved when he returned to his slumber. Satisfied Luke was truly asleep, Obi Wan again turned his attention to the other child, a girl.

It was rare for newborns to be brought into the Order, most force sensitives only showing their powers in late infancy. From what he could remember of murmurings in the temple, the youngling was brought in by a Jedi after the separatists burned her village on Raxus. A “trade dispute” between the governing separatists and the human farm village. Obi Wan didn’t know of many trade disputes that ended with no survivors. 

Except for her, she survived. 

The Jedi who had found her was most likely dead, and with him any information about this child. Obi Wan estimated her to be no more than 6 months old, dark brown skin and eyes; a mop of black curls. He couldn’t garner any information on her, other than how the force flowed through her the same as it did Obi Wan. 

There was no one to take this child, to raise her. Obi Wan knew it was a risk to have two force sensitive children on the same planet in such proximity, but what choice did he have? She, like every other child in the Order, was marked for death. He was nearly too late to cut down the clone who aimed his blaster into her crib. Nearly…

A small, weary smile crept onto the Jedi’s face. The infant girl stirred in his arms, a small huff passing between her lips as she settled. 

Maybe in another life Obi Wan imagined himself a father, perhaps if he had left the Order for Satine as he wished all those years ago. He definitely imagined better circumstances. Yet, to his surprise, a flicker of warmth broke through his numbness as he watched the girl child sleep. A flicker, he couldn't allow it to become anything more right now. 

“You shall need a name, little one.” Obi Wan whispered. He thought for a moment, trying to find something that felt right. 

Cara? No, no… Claudia? Oh by the Force, no… Carolin- wait!

“Chloe…” At the sound of the name, the little girl's eyes fluttered open. Obi Wan smiled at her wide stare. 

“Yes, I think Chloe is the one. Do you like it?” He asked, stroking her little nose. “Chloe Kenobi has quite the ring doesn’t it?” 

[coronetcast]

"Held in Creed and Code" Masterlist

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Smut/light smut: *

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Mandalorian

Chapter 2: The Child

Chapter 3: The Sin

Chapter 4: Sanctuary

Chapter 5: The Gunslinger

Chapter 6: The Prisoner *

Chapter 7: The Reckoning *

Chapter 8: Redemption

Codex I: The Things we have Seen

Codex II: Bad Dreams *