I do not own any of the Star Wars media contained in this story. Updates will be posted as I have time. Enjoy!
The sun was setting over the planet Acendan, casting beautiful colors over the world's tall mountains and pristine waterways. Four-legged herbivores munched grass in a meadow, while a six-legged predator watched from the top of a tree. Small rodents scurried around the floor of a thick forest, gathering the tasty nuts that fell from the planet's signature aren'at trees. They stuffed the nuts into their cheeks and scurried back to their burrows. A winged hunter spotted them, but was too slow to catch the wily creatures.
From a distance, the world of Acendan looked untouched by intelligent beings. However, hidden amongst the trees in a valley tucked between two huge mountain ranges, there was a clearing. In that clearing there was a village, seemingly devoid of life. The village must have once been home to many, but now was burning. The flames from the aren'at wood leaped into the air, not quite to tree height, screening the source of the smoke that curled into the sky.
As the sun continued to set, something began to move among the ruins of the village. A cellar door, blackened by the fire that had destroyed the house above it, strained against the metal latches that kept it closed as something banged against it from below. For a moment, the bangs stopped, but they ceased only long enough for a blaster bolt to sear through the door and destroy the latches. With one final heave the door flipped open. Then, covering his eyes to protect them from the evening light as his eyes adjusted, a boy climbed out of the cellar.
The boy was not more than five years old. His clothing, obviously hand-me-downs, hung loosely on his body in several places. His brown hair, blackened by the smoke of his destroyed village, was tousled and filled with dust and shards of wood. His eyes, a magnificent blue, were filled with terror and his hands shook as he lowered them to survey the carnage. All around him buildings were smoldering, and bodies lay everywhere. Men, women, and children, not a single living thing was left in the village; not even the pets and farm animals had survived.
The boy began to walk around, calling the names of people he knew, people he needed. His mother, his father, his older brother, his sister, all the people he had grown up thinking nothing could happen to them. Now, he could see that had been but a fantasy. His father and brother he found among the remains of the village wall, their handcrafted weapons beside them. He remembered when his father had given him the family's only blaster and told him to defend himself in every way possible before shoving him into the cellar and latching the door closed.
He continued to walk, and found his sister. She had been carrying ammunition to the men as they had defended the wall, and had been caught in the open when whoever had attacked them had brought out grenades. From the placement of the black scar in the dirt the explosive had landed right in the path she'd been following. Unable to stop and turn in time, the blast had sent her into the wall of the building she now lay beside, where the contact with the wall and the concussive wave of the blast had killed her. The satchel of cartridges was still slung over her shoulder, and her own gun was still clutched defiantly in her hand.
The boy was now so crying so hard he could barely see through his own tears. He almost ran away into the woods, since he knew that the fate of his mother would most likely only hurt him worse. However, he could not bear the thought of not being able to say goodbye, so he continued to search. He found her in the ruins of what had been the village medical center, half her body crushed under the rubble. For a moment he thought that she might still be alive, since only her legs were damaged. He broke into a run shouting her name, but when he reached her he knew that there was no hope. The falling wood hadn't killed her, but the blaster bolt to the back of the head definitely had. Unable to bear it any longer, the boy collapsed into sobs beside his mother's body.
The boy lay there for hours, alternately crying and fitfully sleeping. The sun went down and then began to rise again, and the boy was still there. Finally, the warmth of the sun accompanied by the sound of footsteps brought him fully out of sleep. His eyes flew open, but he dared not rise. The footsteps drew closer, and he recognized the sound of a weapon being cocked. He closed his eyes and prepared for the worst.
"Get up, kid," said a gruff voice. The boy stayed where he was, hoping that the person would think he was dead and leave him alone. A boot dug into his back and he resisted the urge to scream.
"I said get up," the voice said again, "I know that you're not dead." Knowing now that his ruse had failed, the boy climbed shakily to a sitting position and faced the source of the voice. What he saw nearly made him faint again. A tall man, clad in armor and wearing a helmet with a t-shaped visor stared back at him. The figure clutched a big pistol in one hand. Behind him, another figure, this one female, was surveying the village. She seemed to sense the boy's movement, and she turned and walked over.
"Careful Atarik," she said, kneeling down beside the boy, "You're scaring him." The woman was wearing armor and a t-visor helmet just like the man. She put her hand on the boy's shoulder and he shrugged it off.
"What's your name?" she asked the boy. The boy didn't speak. The woman looked at the body of the boy's mother.
"Was she your mom?" the woman asked. The boy worked up the courage to nod. The woman sat back on her heel and looked up at the man.
"He's the only one," she said in a language the boy did not understand, "What are we going to do?"
"Well, first off we are going to bury all the bodies we can," the man replied, "Like it or not these people defended their homes to the death, and for that they deserve at least a good burial." As the man spoke it began to drizzle, "No better time for it I guess."
With that the woman stood. She reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a folded up blanket. She handed it to the boy.
"Go sit over there and don't run off, okay?" she said. The boy nodded. He didn't know who these people were, but he wasn't going to turn down their kindness. He sat in the relative shelter of a half-destroyed general store and watched as the two armor-clad strangers found two shovels and began to dig holes in what used to be the village square. They dug them rather deep, flinging the dirt high. They worked for several hours until they had dug a bunch of meter or so deep depressions in the earth. They then began to search the ruins, pulling out the bodies of people the boy had known all his life; friends, his doctor, the baker. All were brought out and, with a few parting words, lowered into the ground.
After a while, it began to be the boy's family being brought out. The boy watched as the two strangers carried first his sister, then his father and brother, and finally his mother to their final resting place. First they closed their eyes, and then adjusted them so they looked almost peaceful. Finally they said more of those parting words and lowered them, one after another, into the shallow graves. They then began to fill them in.
Before they finished, the boy dropped the blanket and ran over. He stared down at his family, crying like he never had before. Finally the dirt was replaced, and only short mounds were left. The boy continued to cry, unable to stop. The female stranger walked up, kneeled beside him, and put her hand on his shoulder again. This time he did not shake her off. The man walked up as well.
"I'm sorry about your family, kid," he said, "They fought bravely and will be remembered." The boy looked up at him, and spoke for the first time.
"Who are you?" he asked, "Why are you here? Why are you doing this?"
"I'm Atarik Starrider Aliit Desh'ar," the man replied, "And this is my wife, Kalera. We saw the smoke from our campsite nearby and came to investigate. We're doing this because all soldiers deserve respect in Mandalorian eyes."
"What are Mandalorians?" the boy asked.
"A very special group of people," the woman replied. They boy looked at the woman, then back at the man.
"What are you going to do now?" the boy asked. Atarik looked at Kalera, and they shared a few words in that mysterious language.
"We're going to move on to the next place," Atarik replied, "If you want, you can come with us." The boy looked around at his destroyed home and the graves of his family. He took a deep breath and nodded. Atarik nodded back and turned. Kalera stood and looked down at the boy.
"Do you want to ride?" she asked, "You look awful tired." The boy nodded and Kalera picked him up and carried him like a baby. She followed Atarik until they reached a small campsite a few kilometers away. The boy was feeling drowsy by the time they reached it, but he was still alert enough to see two small children run out of one of the tents to meet Atarik. They asked him a question and he responded in that mysterious language. They two children returned to the tent they had come out of and Kalera carried the boy into another. She leaned down and lowered him onto a soft pad. He was now so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.
"Sleep tight, ad'ika," she whispered as he sank into a deep sleep.