Chasing a Zeltron to a blasted out planet was not the worst hunt he had been on, but it was certainly one of the more annoying ones. If it wasn't for the fact that Fett had given him this job in exchange for a ship he would have passed it by and found a better hunt. Now, Din knew that Fett had wanted to gift him the ship. After all that had happened with the Imps and Grogu the new ruler of Tatooine had been willing to give him just about anything.

But it was Din who had refused to be gifted.

It wasn't about owing Fett or anything simple like that. It was a matter of pride. Din wanted to prove he could move on after Grogu, after everything that had happened. No matter what had happened he was still a beroya and a mando'ad, and Din needed to prove that not only to Fett but to himself.

So here he was on another weird planet he knew nothing about stalking the oddly perceptive Zeltron who had evaded capture as if he could read minds. For all he knew, the man could- seeing as there was a rumor he had some of the same powers as the kid.

The kid… his son Grogu. He wondered how his little womprat was doing with that jedi… was he learning well? Was he eating properly?

His thoughts snapped back from their wandering when he heard something moving off to his right. Din knelt behind a chunk of singed rock, turning up the sensors on his helmet. The sound was gritty, staggered, a long scrape and the tumbling of stones. As it became more muffled he realized it was coming from slightly below him.

Clever.

Not clever enough.

Finding the opening to what appeared to be some sort of network of catacombs he switched his helmet to night vision and cautiously crept inside.

The walls were made of a softer stone that gave when he dug his fingers in. Pulling out his small utility knife he made a marking low on the wall, close to the ground. If this truly was a network of catacombs then there was no telling how twisted and confusing they could get. Better to mark his path, just in case.

He made his way through the winding, cramped, space until it gave way to wider corridors. The soft reddish earth slowly giving way to actual stone.

When it became apparent that his knife would no longer be able to make marks on the walls he pulled out an oil stick instead. It was made with animal fat and plant dyes and meant to stain whatever it came into contact with. That way even if an animal licked it off the surface of whatever had been drawn on would still be stained with color. On the way back he would cover the marks over completely, obscuring whatever marks he had made so no one else could follow his trail.

Entering a wide hall his steps faltered as the near silent sound of his own footfalls echoed back to him. The air felt old, dead, and oppressive. A shudder ran through him as his helmet swiveled this way and that, trying to find the danger he could feel raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

It felt like some large creature was slumbering nearby, restless and just waiting for something to rouse it enough to come alive.

There was a sound that was not a sound ringing in his ears, like air pressure. A low hum began to build and for a moment Din thought he had activated some old trap. But just as suddenly as the pressure had appeared, it vanished. There was a tug on his belt and he nearly jumped in surprise, hand going to his weapons to ensure they were still there.

The moment his hand brushed the darksaber the low hum tripled in volume and he felt as if his teeth would rattle out of his head. There was a feeling of warmth spreading up his arm and he snatched his hand away from the weapon as if burned.

"Stop!" He hissed through clenched teeth.

To his surprise the thing quieted down with a vague feeling that Din was almost afraid to name.

Lately it was as if the damned thing had a mind of its own. He'd been told it was a weapon sacred to the Mandalorian people, that winning it in a duel meant he was the new ruler of Mandalore. But no one had told him it was alive.

He might have thrown it at Bo-katan's head and made his escape if he'd known. Yet every time he'd tried to toss the thing away he'd hesitated and eventually returned it to his belt.

Turning his attention back to his hunt he found traces of a heat signature and followed it deeper into the hall, stopping at intervals to mark his way back.

When he reached the end of the hall there was a large stone door. It towered above him, nearly twelve feet in height if he had to guess, and was carved with intricate swirls that were mesmerizing to follow with ones eyes. The way they crossed over one another in a pattern, as if the very universe was being woven before his eyes, was a distraction that almost got him. Only the sharp hum of the darksaber was able to break him out of whatever trance the door had put him into.

Pressing his lips into a thin line he reached for his spear. Something deep in his gut told him that his prey was just beyond this door.

Slipping inside with his spear in hand he had to switch the visor setting on his helmet as he came upon a lit antechamber. Stalking cautiously through the room he noted the odd markings all over the walls, like some sort of writing, but tried not to focus on any of it. Just in case it had the same trap as the door.

Peeking into the next chamber his eyes went wide in surprise. The walls were made up of murals with thousands of tiny crystal pieces embedded into the rock. They followed the same pattern as the strange swirls on the door outside and yet somehow they seemed… more.

But he had no time to focus on the walls as he was suddenly shoved, hard, and nearly toppled over. Across the room the Zeltron was glaring at him, arm extended and trembling slightly.

The man had moved him from across the room. Was this more weird jedi magic? The rumours about him must have been true then.

"G-get away from me!" They yelled, voice strained with fear. Din buried the pang of regret at having to take in one of Grogu's people but… a job was a job and his honor was now at stake.

"Come quietly and there won't be any trouble." The hunt had been long, the man had to be tired by now. It wasn't as if he had been a warrior before fleeing. He was an accountant owned by Jabba before the Hutt had been killed. He had secrets that Fett wanted. "I'm not here to hurt you, just come back to Tatooine with me and-"

"No!" The man snarled, fear and anger warring on his face. "I won't go back to being a slave!" The invisible force that had shoved him before returned with a vengeance. Din was slammed into the wall with a grunt of pain, though he kept his grip on his spear.

The Zeltron held him there, looking unsure of himself as his face screwed up in concentration. A bead of sweat trailed down his red face, dark purple hair wild and unkempt.

The low hum started again. This time it felt as though it were rattling his entire skeleton. Small points of heat pressed into his back and there was a sharp gasp. Din nearly stumbled as the press against his chest disappeared. Shifting his grip on the beskar spear he readied himself for a fight. All around them the tiny shards of crystal began to shimmer, as if alive, and he swore he could hear whispering just outside the pick-up range of his helmet.

"I swear to you that you will not be made a slave. Fett abolished the slave trade on Tatooine." The Zeltron took a step back, eyes darting about the room like a spooked fathier.

"You're a bounty hunter! I can't trust you! Not if you work for Fett!" Din grit his teeth and tried to make himself relax. There was still a chance he could talk the man down from doing… whatever he was thinking of doing. Something desperate no doubt.

"I'm Mandalorian, my word is my honor." The Zeltron didn't look convinced and Din… couldn't blame him. After meeting Bo-katan he had come to realize that not all Mandalorians were honorable. Even Fett had admitted to working for the Empire as a bounty hunter.

It had been a revelation that messed him up for a time. But Din was a survivor and he refused to let something like a shaken worldview stop him. He had to move forward, he had to keep going.

Distracted by his own thoughts once more he wasn't quite prepared for the hard shove that sent him flying backward. He slammed hip first into a pillar and heard the clang of metal against stone. Between them the darksaber clattered to the ground.

The Zeltron's eyes widened, glued to the hilt of the weapon. Din hauled himself up and bolted toward it, hand outstretched. Before he could close his fingers around the hilt it rattled on the ground before flying into the Zeltron's hands.

Even the Zeltron looked surprised.

Activating the darksaber they gaped in surprise at the black blade that crackled with energy. Din grabbed his spear and grit his teeth. "Put the weapon down, we don't need to fight." The Zeltron looked at him and something in their eyes told him they weren't about to listen.

Dark energy clashed against beskar as Din shoved all memories of his fight with Moff Gideon to the back of his mind. He forced himself to focus on the target before him, pushing his emotions aside. When this job was finished Din would have a ship that belonged to him and him alone. He could find the scattered remnants of the covert and maybe one day… he would see Grogu again.

With that thought as motivation to not only win but keep the Zeltron alive he fought with tightly controlled violence. All of his strikes were disabling without being damaging. It wasn't hard, it was clear the Zeltron had never trained with a sword let alone the lightswords the jedi used as weapons.

Shoving the butt of the spear into the man's chest to wind him he twisted the hilt of the darksaber out of his grasp. It flew into the air between them, that deep hum returning as it flipped end over end. Din reached out his hand just as the Zeltron did and cursed as it wobbled midair. Yet, inexplicably, the hilt slapped into his gloved hand. Closing his fingers around it there was a sound like a clear chime, reminiscent of beskar hitting beskar and resonating.

The Zeltron's eyes widened as a wave of heavy sensation pulsed out from the darksaber, causing the crystals in the walls to pulse and glow in time.

Like a heartbeat.

"What… are you?" The man's voice was a whisper as he stared up at Din in a mix of horror and awe.

"They are the Mand'alor. Jatnese be te jatnese. The best of the best."

Din stiffened as a low female voice came from behind him, the Mando'a spoken flawlessly. Turning his head he froze in confusion.

What was a Mandalorian doing down here? And how did they know who Din was? Was it because of the darksaber?

"Mand'alor te Udesla." She called him, a fist over her heart and an amused tilt to her oddly pointed helmet.

Her armor was of a strange design that he had never seen before but he could tell it was made of beskar from the winding unpainted lines on her bracers. Overall her armor was black with dark green and deep blue accents. Justice, duty, and reliability. A long black cloak lined with fur at the collar stopped about an inch from the ground, covering over her pauldrons and any signets she might have.

"Wh-who are you!?" The Zeltron asked.

"No one you need be concerned with, apprentice." The figure lifted their hand and waved it toward the Zeltron. "Sleep." Instantly his target crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Din poked the man with the butt of his spear to see whether or not he was actually asleep or just faking it. When he was certain he wasn't being tricked he turned back to the other Mandalorian.

He opened his mouth to speak but was uncertain what to say and closed it again. With a chuckle the woman stepped forward and Din was surprised to see she was actually taller than him, though not by much. "I can see you are having trouble. Let us start with introductions." Squaring her shoulders she looked down at him. "I am Tarre Vizsla, Mand'alor te Kar'tigaanyc." Din tensed in surprise. So many thoughts were racing through his mind.

There was another Vizsla, were they related to Paz? They called themselves Mand'alor, did that mean they would take the weapon from him? Was he going to have to duel them as well or could he actually just give it back? And lastly… "The star touched?" He asked aloud. For some reason that was the thing his mind had fixated on, rather than the far more important questions.

A feeling of amusement that was not his own swept through him and he flinched. In his hand the darksaber felt warm even through his glove and his hand tightened around the hilt subconsciously.

"It is what our people used to call those who could use the force. Those like your son." Din bristled at the mention of Grogu. How in the fierfek did this stranger know about his son? "Peace, vod, I mean you and your child no harm. I would never hurt an ad. It is not the Way." Hearing those words eased something deep in his chest. After everything that had happened to him in the last six months it was a relief to speak with someone who followed the Way.

"If you're the Mand'alor then this belongs to you." The hilt hummed in his hand as he held it out to the stranger. It was a risk, giving such a weapon away, but his gut told him he could trust this warrior. With an amused tilt to their shoulders Vizsla held out their hand and Din was relieved as he finally, finally, was able to give the damned thing away.

The hilt landed on their open palm and Din startled when it fell through. Before he could try to catch the weapon it stopped falling and rose to float above Vizsla's hand. "Duty is not a burden discarded lightly, nor responsibility so easily abandoned." They held out their hand and he stared at the innocuous looking hilt. Carefully he wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it from the air. Vizsla retracted their hand with an air of approval.

"What are you? Some sort of ghost?" There was a flash of amusement and Din scowled.

"I am an echo of the Mandalorian Jedi who built what is now known as the Darksaber. I put my heart and soul into crafting a weapon that would aid both of my peoples. That kind of dedication leaves its mark on a crystal like the one inside my blade." So he was either talking to an actual ghost… or Din had finally cracked. "I know it must seem far fetched to you, considering your upbringing, but I am not a figment of your imagination." Reaching up Vizsla brushed her fingers against his helm and he swore he could feel the touch against his temple. It was so affectionate and maternal that he had to bite his lip not to tear up. "I came because I felt the call of a true Mand'alor for the first time since I fell dormant."

"I never asked for this." Vizsla chuckled.

"Some are born great, some strive for greatness, and some," she nodded at the darksaber, "have greatness thrust upon them." Din growled in frustration as Vizsla's shoulders shook with mirth. Then her shoulders stopped and she stilled. A feeling of melancholy came over her suddenly and Din felt as if his chest was being constricted, it was like he couldn't breathe. "Mand'alor te Udesla, I have seen what has become of our people. My homeworld destroyed, our people scattered, our culture in tatters. My brothers and sisters in the jedi are nothing more than myths barely spoken, betrayed by the ones they trusted most." Din swallowed at the overwhelming grief pressing down on him. It was as if he were seeing his own grief mirrored in someone else.

"What do you want me to do? I'm just one beroya. I'm no leader." Tarre let out a small huff of laughter.

"That is where you are wrong. You have all the makings of a great leader for our people, if only you would just see it in yourself." He shook his head.

"I can't… I just…"

"If you will not lead then who will?" Din slumped forward slightly.

"Bo-katan?" It was the first name that came to mind, even if the very idea rankled. She was the one with the drive and the ambition.

Tarre hissed and Din jumped. "Bo-katan is a twice traitor who will impose a tyrannical rule over our people. The only Mandalorians she will accept are those who do not stray from the path she has lain before them. Few would choose to follow her, and fewer still would be able to walk that path." Din swallowed hard.

"Fett?" The feeling he got this time was regret, regret and sadness.

"Boba might have been fit to lead once but his own grief, anger, and cynicism have made him reject the role of Mand'alor. Made him reject the very idea that he is Mandalorian. Even if you offered, he would never accept." Those were the only two people he knew that might have been worthy.

"…Paz?" It rankled a little but he knew the other was strong, strong enough to lead.

"My descendant has too much anger and pride in his heart to accept his own faults. He has been corrupted by the twisted teachings of the remnants of my clan, a clan I would disown were I alive today." Din tried to wrack his brain for anyone else but he was drawing a blank.

"…I don't want this. Please." As his voice cracked on the final word he felt warmth bloom in his chest, comfort.

"Then that leaves me with no choice. I must do what is best for my people." A shiver of dread ran down his spine and he took a step back, wary.

The humming that had been present ever since he'd entered the lower levels of the catacombs rose in volume and Din grabbed at his helm in pain. All around him the crystals in the walls had begun to shine like beacons, blinding him as the vibrations in the air made him feel nauseous.

"There is one who is worthy of me, one who never had the chance to wield me as they should have." Tarre's voice echoed inside his mind, drowning out everything else. "You are an honorable man, Din Djarin, I have no doubt that you will do what is right." It felt as if he was standing in a raging river, the pressure against his body unbearable as he tried to draw breath. "One more thing." The voice felt farther away now, muffled almost. "You will never be alone."

The world exploded into light and Din's entire world descended into darkness.

Gasping for air he bolted upright, head whipping around as he blinked away the spots in his eyes. All around him he found piles of junk and trash. Was this… an alley?

He sat there for a good three minutes, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was no longer underground. Panic overtook him as he realized the ghost had been real, and they had performed some sort of strange magic on him. Moving to stand his arm smacked against something solid and he heard the telltale chime of beskar. With a sigh of relief he picked up his spear and used it to haul himself off of the ground.

He was surprised when the usual aches and pains that came from the myriad of healed injuries he'd sustained over the course of his years as a beroya didn't make themselves known. What the hell had the ghost done to him?

"Gev!" The sound of an angry young voice shouting in Mando'a distracted him. Down at the other end of the dark alley he saw two tall armored forms and a third much smaller form.

"Listen up you little brat, you need to learn about respecting your betters." The moment the blow landed and the child fell to the ground with a pained groan Din saw red. Gripping his spear hard enough that his knuckles cracked with the strain he stalked toward the two cowards who would dare to harm a child. The fact that they were wearing armor didn't even register to his mind other than something to be aware of.

The boy rose to his feet and spat blood onto the armor of the one who had struck him. "Hut'uun!" Din could sense a grim feeling of satisfaction from the child as his attacker snarled and grabbed onto the front of his shirt.

The child made for a good distraction and in that moment Din struck. The butt of his spear slammed down on the coward's hand, making them yelp and release the child. Stepping out of the darkened alley he placed a hand in front of the child and motioned them to step back. Eyes wide the kid hesitated, looking at the dead end alleyway before reluctantly backing away.

"Shabuir!" The coward swore, cradling their damaged hand against their chest. The second enemy turned away from watching the street, pulling their blaster. With barely a thought Din used the spear to knock the blaster out of their hand and kicked them dead center in the chest. They let out a winded wheeze before he brought the spear down on the section between pauldron and gorget. There was a sickening crack as their collarbone gave under the force of the blow and a gurgling sound as they fell to the ground.

"Ceraden! Who the shab are you?" Turning to glower at the one who had struck the child he motioned at the one on the ground.

"Take your friend and go. If I ever catch you striking another child this will be nothing compared to what I will do to you." The coward took one good look at him, beskar spear and all, and scrambled to haul his friend off the street. The two of them stumbled away, muttering curses, and Din finally began to relax.

"Shab, you're strong." Turning to look back at the kid he tilted his helmet curiously, though he frowned slightly.

"Language, adiik." The kid snorted and wiped at his face, smearing blood along his sleeve. Din let out a huff and attached the spear to his back before reaching into a pouch and pulling out a square of cloth. He held it out to the child who blinked at it for a moment before taking it and using it to stem the bleeding of his lip.

"What's your name? What clan are you from?" Din stiffened, uncertain what he should do. The child obviously spoke Mando'a and as Din glanced out into the street he could see many people walking about with partial or full armor on.

Was this some sort of Mandalorian enclave where they felt safe enough to remove their helmets? Or were these Bo-katan's kind of Mandalorians?

"They usually just call me Mando or Beroya." The kid frowned, dark eyes wary. Din let out a sigh and crouched so they were closer in height. "But you can call me Din." The smile he received was enough to make the risk worth it.

Stars dammit, he was such a sucker for children.

"M'Jaster." The boy said with a wide grin that promised trouble. "Jaster Mereel.

Mando'a

Mand'alor te Udesla- Mand'alor the Unflappable.
Mando'ad- Mandalorian
Beskar- Mandalorian Iron
Beroya- Bounty Hunter
Vod- Brother/sister, comrade.
Gev- Stop it!
Hut'uun- Coward
Shabuir- Bastard
Shab- Fuck
Adiik- Child between the ages of 3 and 13.