For the first six years of his life, Boba had tried, once a week, to make the connection. Lots of his brothers had made connections, a single line drawn on the inside of their wrist joined magically by a second, crossing it, confirming that their soulmate existed somewhere and lived in a place where the meaning of the line was known. When a baby was born, one of the first things the parents did was draw a line on their wrist with a pen or marker, letting any existing soulmates know their partner lived. Buir had confirmed to Boba that he'd done it for him, but no responding line had appeared.

That didn't stop Boba from trying it again and again with his own markers. As he got older and learned to write, as Buir spent more and more time away, leaving Boba alone and lonely, he'd sometimes scrawl a plaintive hello, only for the lines to fade away as if they'd never been.

Maybe his soulmate just didn't know what the lines meant? Maybe their culture forbade it?

Seeing some of his brothers connect to each other and become some of the deadliest teams in the army left him feeling lost and forgotten. Boba desperately wanted a friend like that, a friend who, when they were together, would make them more than they were apart. Buir' s soulmate had died on Galidraan, and when he talked about it at all, he would only say that he'd lost his better half, and only the bitter half remained.

(Boba didn't quite understand the sorrowful attempt at humour at the time; it wasn't until he was much older that he got it.)

On one of his really bad days - Ordo was being a meanie and Kom'rk had joined in - Buir found him drawing and re-drawing vanishing lines on his arm.

"What're you doing, Boba?"

"I just want them to connect," Boba snuffled, wiping traitorous tears away before they could fall. "If I draw enough lines, maybe they'll finally answer."

Buir hunkered down beside him and gently took the marker away. It was old and drying out; Boba had swiped it from the trainers' recycle bin. "Let me show you something, cyar'ika." He drew a short line on the back of his hand; it faded away as Boba watched. "It doesn't matter if your soulmate never responds, Boba. If they live, the connection forms; when they die, it goes away. I've known people who got a second soulmate after their first was killed in battle; sometimes it was another warrior who'd lost their own soulmate. Your soulmate isn't ignoring you, ad; they probably haven't been born yet."

"But I'm already five! How can we train to be the best when my soulmate will be just a little kid?!"

Buir hugged him tightly. "Five years isn't such a big age difference once you're an adult, and little kids grow up fast. Look at it this way: if you find them, you'll be able to teach them everything you already know, and they'll catch up faster. Yeah?"

It was reassuring, kinda, but it didn't do much to make him feel less lonely as he watched even his littler brothers grow past him. Boba kept trying, anyway, hoping that maybe one day the line he drew would linger.

A year and a half later, he woke up to a line of blue ink already drawn on the inside of his left wrist; he was so excited to add his own line crossing it, he dropped the marker three times. Boba desperately wanted to show his buir, but Buir was away on a job again. He took it upon himself to check the newest cadets, still in the creche, but none had been born that day. So it wasn't one of his brothers, which meant Boba would have to wait until his soulmate was old enough to be able to write to learn their name; after that first contact, a person's guardians were meant to leave further connections up to the soulmates.

Boba contented himself with drawing a happy face on his arm for his baby soulmate every day. The ink lingering on his skin for half the day warmed him, knowing there was somebody out there who would be his best friend someday.

He was nine when the Jedi arrived.

Buir had taken Boba offworld before, and there were a bunch of trainers around, so the Jedi wasn't the first person Boba had met who wasn't a brother or a Kaminoan. But he was only the second stranger to be led directly to their apartment.

The last time a stranger had visited like that, he'd been a tall, creepy older human with a white beard and cold eyes that made Boba feel like he'd failed a basic training exercise; and after he'd left, Buir had had to leave again. The new stranger also had a beard and wore a big cloak, although it was brown instead of blue. Boba still didn't trust him; Buir had only just returned from a job, and he needed to stay home for a while. Things were always better when Buir was around.

Buir and the Jedi talked, and Boba could tell that they were saying more than their words - double-speak, Buir had called it. Buir clearly hated the Jedi, and the Jedi didn't believe Buir at all; their smiles never reached their eyes.

And when the Jedi left, Buir stood frowning for a long moment before he said, "Pack your things, Boba. We're leaving."

Of course it was never going to be that simple, was it? The Jedi followed them, and followed them, and somehow kept surviving. If Boba hadn't known his buir so well, he might think Buir was trying not to kill the Jedi. Buir had no reason to pretend to Boba. Were Jedi just that lucky, or was it their Force osik that let this one track them down?

When they landed, the skinny old man was there. He wanted Buir to do some work, and for once Boba didn't feel like trying to sneak out of the ship to explore while Buir was busy. The planet was hot and dry, the locals looked like they were looking for an excuse to be mean, and the skinny old man's eyes made the hairs prickle on the back of Boba's neck.

Things were happening, he could tell. Every night when Buir returned to bunk down in the ship, he was quiet and on edge; sometimes he'd spend a while pacing, which meant he was thinking hard about things he didn't like. Boba knew how to work the comm scanner and managed to access whatever channel the security was using, but they all spoke in clicks and burrs that didn't mean anything to Boba. They sure sounded agitated, though.

Finally his Buir came back in the middle of the day and said, "Come on. They're going to execute the Jedi. You've never seen a public execution before. They make a spectacle out of them."

It was actually two Jedi and a woman Buir said he'd been hired to kill, and would have succeeded if it wasn't for the two Jedi. Buir should have been happy about it, but instead he was frowning as the skinny guy in the silly hat made an announcement to the crowd.

"Stay close, Boba. I have a bad feeling about this."

Three big animals were released to eat the prisoners, and then a whole bunch more Jedi showed up.

And then his Buir left him.

(For years afterward, Boba would wonder why Jango had done that. Why he'd thrown himself into the fight unnecessarily, why he'd left Boba standing there. His buir had a reputation as a Jedi killer, and a Jedi had been responsible for Buir's soulmate's death, but the passage of time brought Boba no real clarity.)

The creepy old man grabbed for Boba, and he skittered away, into the darkened hall behind them with its little side passages. The distance from their viewing box to the floor of the arena was too far for Boba to jump, but there had to be stairs down somewhere. It took too long to find them - Boba had to hide twice, once from the old man and once from a group of guards - and by the time he emerged into the dusty sunlight again, his father was lying motionless on the ground, his severed head a few feet away.

Boba had no idea how long he stood there, staring in horror and denial; long enough that when he became aware of the arena again, things had changed dramatically. Hundreds of his brothers swarmed against battle droids and Geonosian soldiers, the ground littered with more bodies than Boba could count.

He couldn't stay here. But there was something to do before he went; Buir had been quite firm on that. His buir's helmet had rolled a bit; the chinstrap was broken, the dangling ends seared black by the heat from a Jedi's lightsaber.

A body was just a body, an empty husk; Jango had marched onward, perhaps to join company with Myles and all the other names he'd recited every night. The armour, however, was special; it carried the soul of a Mandalorian, and shouldn't be left behind.

Boba crouched and picked up the helmet, pressing his forehead to the sun-warmed metal. The words came hard, and he choked them out past the tears and the lump in his throat. "Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc. Ni partayli gar darasuum." I live, while you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal. It hurt; he just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. But if he stayed here, he wouldn't live to remember his buir at all.

Hugging the buy'ce close, Boba hurried over to the closest clone trooper. "Hey! You! I need help!"

"What the- Boba?" The clone holstered his blaster. "What are you doing here?!"

"Buir brought me. I-" He glanced back over his shoulder at the body, and the clone swore.

"Come on. I'll get my commander over here, okay?"

The clone called himself Skate. Between the two of them, they got Jango Fett's armour and weapons bundled up in a discarded Jedi's robe, but disposing of the body left them stymied. Boba and Skate were still debating what to do when Skate's Commander, Pike, hustled over with the remains of their squad. It was clear some of them didn't care much for Jango Fett, but they were still Mandalorian-trained. A body should be buried or cremated properly, and Geonosis was nothing like proper. In the end, Boba helped them place his buir's body in a stasis bag for transport to their ship's morgue, piled in a dropship with the bodies of fallen Jedi and clones.

Pike started to bundle Boba into another dropship carrying the wounded, when Boba remembered something. He grabbed Pike's arm. "Buir's ship! We can't leave it here for them."

Pike muttered a curse. "Of course not."

They ended up in a different dropship with a spare pilot who promised to help Boba fly the Slave I up to their Venator and not touch anything. Boba wished he didn't need the help - Buir had shown him how - but the simple truth was that he was too damn short to actually do it by himself yet.

There were only a few droids on guard around the hangar, clearly expecting anyone to come from the halls instead of down through the open roof. It was a relief to have his buir's ship safely stowed in one of the cruiser's hangar bays; Boba felt much better after stowing the armour in Buir's locker. His brothers weren't really his brothers - Buir had never claimed any others as his own - but they all understood the importance of the ship and its contents.

Pike was waiting for him at the foot of the Firespray's ramp. Boba appreciated that: Pike was a ground trooper and Boba's situation was pretty far out of his field, but it was nice to have someone familiar sticking around.

"So what's the plan, kiddo? You got a place to go?"

That was, in fact, Boba's main concern, and why he'd demanded assistance in the first place. "No. I need to talk to the Jedi, what's his name. Kenobi? He'll know." Maybe. He hoped.

The Commander checked his comm and huffed a laugh. "Good thing we brought you to the evac ship, he's in the medbay right now. C'mon, and don't wander off."

"As if I would," Boba snarked back. He needed to talk to the Jedi, and wandering wouldn't get him that.

The Jedi, Kenobi, was sitting on one of the medical beds sipping at one of those nasty thick drinks medics forced on people who hadn't been eating properly. His Jedi outfit was gone, replaced with comfy medical clothes; the wrapped top was only covering his right arm while a medic cleaned and applied a bacta patch to a sutured wound on his left.

Pike rapped his knuckles on the doorframe to get the Jedi's attention. "Sorry to interrupt-"

"You should be," the medic sniped, and Boba snickered at the offended look on the CC's face.

"We picked up a minor complication on Geonosis," Pike continued doggedly, and Kenobi lowered the cup.

"What sort of- oh." He frowned a little. "It's Boba, right?"

Boba stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Yeah."

The Jedi glanced at the Commander, who shrugged, then past them. "Is your father here too?"

"He's dead," Boba said flatly, and felt a small, vicious spark of satisfaction at the way the Jedi's face fell. "One of your Jedi killed him. Now you owe me."

"Ah." The Jedi winced at whatever the medic was doing. "I suppose we do. Do you need assistance getting your father's ship off Geonosis?"

"Already taken care of," Pike said. "Stowed it in the ventral hangar a few minutes ago. I've assigned a guard detail, because Fett left some nasty security measures. Don't want anyone running afoul of those."

Boba couldn't resist a mean grin. It would serve someone right if they messed with his dad's - his, now - ship. "I can access it. Nobody else."

"Alright." Kenobi adjusted his medical top as the medic left, then grimaced at the nutrient smoothie. "Very well. What, then, can we do for you?"

"I'm not going back to Kamino, all my stuff's on Dad's- my ship," Boba said firmly, folding his arms decisively. Without his buir around to stop them, the Kaminoans would treat Boba like a lab specimen; kark that. "But I know what the galaxy does to kids who don't have a parent around. I want you to use the Force to find my soulmate. They're only a year old, so they can't write back yet. I can stay with them."

Kenobi's face did something complicated. "I'm afraid the Force doesn't work like that, Boba. There's nobody else you can go to?"

His buir hadn't been big on socializing. The few people he had introduced Boba to, he'd warned in advance that they were the type to take advantage if you had something they wanted. None of Buir's friends were very good friends at all. "No. But you're not sending me to a shitty Republic orphanage." He knew what happened to kids who were sent to those places, too. Plus, they'd take the ship away.

"Of course not." Kenobi actually looked offended. "Commander, can you get him some quarters? As close as possible to the hangar where Fett's ship is, if you please." He glanced back at Boba. "There are some people I can contact on your behalf. Until I get a response from them, you can stay here. It shouldn't take more than a few days."

A Republic Venator would have a lot of exploration potential. Boba pretended to consider it. "Are you gonna lock me in?"

Pike snorted. "As if anything short of brigging you would keep you contained. I remember what you're like. If I assigned someone to stick with you, would you at least consider not trying to lose them? It's more to make certain you're secure if we come under attack," he added as Boba was opening his mouth to say something snarky in reply. "You're a civilian and it's standard procedure."

He closed his mouth. That was actually a good point, not that he would admit it. "Fine, I guess," he muttered, with an eyeroll that was meant to be seen. "But they better be able to keep up."

Pike arched an eyebrow at him. "I have just the right trooper in mind, actually. Do you remember Gecko?"

Gecko was one of the older clones, and had a knack for climbing sheer walls and getting through small spaces. Bonus: he'd never been a sleemo to Boba. "Yeah, he's alright."

"He won't mind crawling through the ducts with you, or whatever it is you get up to. If you ask nicely, he might even spar with you."

Oh, that would be fun, actually. If things here were run similarly to the way Kamino was, it wouldn't be too bad. "Alright, fine. I won't try to lose him. More than once."

Pike rolled his eyes and Kenobi made a weird noise, rubbing his beardy face. "I leave the matter in your capable hands, Commander."

A few days later Gecko received a summons from Kenobi; he brought Boba to talk to the Jedi in a room that was probably supposed to be an office, but it was so empty it practically echoed. Boba had asked why nobody had put up holoposters and been told that this was just a medevac ship and that everything was temporary, so he was pretty sure this office wasn't even Kenobi's.

"I received word from a contact on Concord Dawn, Boba," the Jedi said without preamble. "But before we divert course, they'd like to talk to you, to make sure you're alright with what you'd be getting into."

"I have a choice?" Boba asked, tucking his feet under himself on the chair so he could see more of the desktop.

The Jedi frowned. "Of course you have a choice, Boba. If you don't like what they have to say, they might know other people whose homes would suit you better. But they're Mandalorian rather than a more Republic-style family. You should be allowed to keep your culture."

Now it made more sense: Buir and Ba'buir had both been from Concord Dawn. Boba nodded in understanding. "Alright then."

Kenobi tapped a few keys on the desk and the holoprojector lit up, showing a person in full beskar'gam. At least, Boba assumed it was proper beskar'gam: it had the same basic form his buir's had, but looked much more utilitarian, and the metal covered a lot more. A cape trimmed with fur draped from their shoulders.

"Su cuy'gar, Jetii," they greeted. Their tone was respectful, despite the casual words.

"Su cuy, ner vod. This is the adiik I told you about." Kenobi gestured to Boba, and the Mandalorian turned to face him, tuning out the Jedi as if he wasn't even there.

"Jate'urcye, ad," they said, and it took Boba a moment to parse that they meant that it was good to meet him. "I am the Alor of Aliit Veraad; in Basic, I go by 'she' or 'they' interchangeably. I do not ask your name because it is not our Way to reveal names or faces outside of our clan."

That sounded familiar. Boba leaned forward, looking up at the T-shaped visor, which was tilted in a friendly attitude. "My buir mentioned people like you. You're really strict about following the Resol'narë, right?"

They nodded and then actually sat down in front of the holo pickup so that Boba didn't have to crane his neck so much. "That's right. We knew your buir, briefly. I'll be honest: he wasn't liked well. But he was respected, and that counts for more," they added before Boba could bristle. "The Jetii told us what happened. We're willing to take you in, give you a place in our or'aliit01. But you would have to abide by our way of life. We understand this would be an extreme change for you and it would require time for you to acclimate. What do you understand of us already?"

Boba chewed the tip of his thumb as he tried to pull up memories. Thinking about his buir squeezed his heart painfully. "Other than what you already said? I know you always wear beskar'gam, even at home, don't speak Mando'a among anyone except other Mandalorians, and you're waiting for the True Mand'alor to reveal themself."

"There are exceptions to the Mando'a rule," the Alor said with a soft laugh and a gesture towards Kenobi. "This Jetii speaks the language and was known to us before we knew he was a Jetii at all. But we believe in reincarnation, of a sort. The Manda binds us as one people, but there will only ever be one Mand'alor, returned to life time and again. Many thought it might be your buir, even though he abdicated his duties out of shame some time ago."

Frowning, Boba said, "But if the title is handed from one adult to another, how does that even work?"

The Alor clapped their hands with delight. "Willing to ask questions! Jatë, ori'jatë! The Manda passes from the Ru'mand'alor to the Ven'mand'alor. It isn't a literal rebirth so much as a spiritual one." They sobered a moment, shoulders tightening. "With the loss of your buir, we must seek the signs indicating his successor. It might be you. It might not. This is an unstable and uncertain time. Your Jetii understands the importance to us, even if he doesn't agree."

Kenobi tilted his head in confirmation. He was studying Boba closely, probably trying to see how Boba was feeling about all of this. For his part, Boba couldn't really decide if he liked this or not. It would be tough. But it was going to be tough, regardless. "So what's life like among your or'aliit?"

"We may wear armour and train rigorously, but we aren't entirely regimented. There is much leisure time to relax and develop hobbies… or watch the HoloNet," the Alor said with a note of amusement in their voice. "There is some schedule, and work shifts, but only to ensure fairness, so that we all bear an even share of the load. Among us, you would be treated the same as every other ad. You would be raised by the or'aliit as a whole, not by a single buir. We live communally and have few personal possessions, but heirlooms - such as your buir's ship and beskar'gam - would be yours alone, as would inconsequential items such as holocubes and datapads. You would not go hungry nor cold, and we would include you in all of the traditional education. You would keep your bui'gai, but none would press you about your buir, if you wish not to speak of him. The name would not set you apart, because you are not your buir, and your life is still your own."

A little twist of tension eased out of Boba's spine. He was used to being his buir's Special child, but he hated the thought of anyone taking pity on him, or worse: treating him badly because they'd hated Jango. "If… if I went to you, but it was- was too hard for me. Can I leave later?"

They hesitated. "It… is done, but only rarely. Almost never for anyone under tsikal'yc02. You would be sworn to oaths of secrecy, to never reveal what you know of us, to never speak of your time among our or'aliit. This is a difficult thing to do, particularly for one so young."

Boba nodded and bit his lip, then asked the question that had been bothering him, about the thing that might possibly be the hardest part. "If I joined you… would I never be allowed to tell anyone my name? There's only me in my clan, now." The thought of never seeing the faces of the people he lived with, never knowing anyone's name, curdled in his stomach.

"Nobody beyond the or'aliit," the Alor said quickly, reassuring him. "In past times where we have felt at risk, hunted, we have been more restrictive, but these are not such times. We remove our buy'cesë in the safety of our compound, and share names. Beyond our walls, we only reveal our faces in privacy to eat and sleep."

"And…" Boba hesitated, but it was important. "My soulmate isn't Mandalorian. I think. They're too young to write back yet. I can't tell them?"

"Ahhh, the hardest trial." The Mandalorian sighed. "You would not be permitted to tell them your name, nor show them your face, unless they join the or'aliit. This has plagued many of my vodë, but such things are the will of the Manda and nearly always end agreeably."

That sounded… not great, but not terrible. "What if I gave them a fake name? One I never use anywhere else?"

"That would be acceptable, yes." They sounded pleased. "Mirdala ad. There are many who can help you navigate such difficulties."

He was tempted to say no. Boba knew he'd had it easy compared to his vodë , that everyone on this ship with the same basic geneprint had grown up in a strict environment where orders had to be followed and the extent of personal freedom was in whether to read or play pazaak in their limited down time. It felt unfair and selfish to whine about the prospect of getting stuck in a life with such comparatively minor restrictions. But when held against Boba's personal experience, it was a huge change, one that would be really hard, at least for a while. And if he didn't like it, he would probably still be required to stay until he was fourteen and considered an adult. Four years was a long time! Half his life!

But. This Alor liked that he asked questions. That he tried to find alternatives that would still satisfy the rules. They wouldn't expect him to be perfect from the start. And they were honest about things they knew he wouldn't like; it sucked, sure, but he preferred not being lied to.

He glanced at Kenobi, who returned the look mildly.

"What do you think, Boba?"

"I think…." He took a deep breath. "I think I want to give it a chance. And… if it doesn't suit me in a few years, I'll still be Mandalorian. Just a different sort of Mandalorian."

Kenobi nodded and looked at the Alor. "We can be in-system in three days, unless you would like to send someone to meet us elsewhere?"

"A Republic warship in Mandalorian space will draw attention. I will come meet you in Lantilles in three days." The Alor turned back to Boba. "You do not have armour of your own, and I understand everyone on that ship knows you already. Wearing your buir's buy'ce would cause excessive stress to your neck because it would be the wrong size and too heavy for you, so we won't ask you to cover your face until we meet. But we will bring a hibir'ad03 buy'ce for you, and this you will be asked to wear. Is this alright?"

Boba swallowed hard. "Yeah, I understand." He had three days to get used to the idea, and then there would be no backing out.

The Alor stood and nodded first to Boba, then to Kenobi. "Jatë. Ret'urcyë mhi."

They sat in silence for a minute after the holocall ended, Boba staring pensively at the darkened projector. Kenobi's sigh as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk drew Boba's eyes up.

"That will be quite the experience. If there's one thing I've found that helps when trying to adjust to a new situation, it's cleaning out what's left of your old life."

Boba frowned. "When does a Jedi need to bother with that?"

Kenobi's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, you'd be surprised. But the last time was after my- my teacher was killed. I had to clean all our things from the quarters we'd shared at the Temple and move to a new one. I would be willing to help you clean out your ship before we reach Lantilles; there's little enough for me-"

A sharp knock and then the door opening without waiting for a response interrupted the Jedi, and he leveled a glare that looked like a smile at the intruder. "Anakin, this is a private meeting."

The gawky human teenager standing there was still wearing medbay clothes. His right arm was bound up securely to his chest, the sleeve rolled to his bicep; the forearm ended in a protective biomed cuff just below the elbow. "Yeah, but they said you'd already been released from medical, and you didn't come see me first! And everyone keeps calling me 'Commander' and it's weird, Master." In the corridor behind the Jet'ika, completely ignored, Gecko and Pike were giving him twin incredulous stares. Anakin finally noticed Boba sitting in the other chair and blinked. "Who's that?"

Kenobi paused for a moment before saying, "Anakin, this is Fett's son. He'll be staying with us until we reach Lantilles."

The older boy's eyes narrowed. "Oh yeah? Why?"

"Because we're bringing him to people who will look after him."

Boba sat in quiet fascination listening to them. It was like Anakin didn't recognize anyone beyond himself as even being there, while Kenobi displayed an incredible amount of irritation without once breaking his mild expression. Boba kind of wanted to learn how to do that.

Scoffing, Anakin growled, "Fett took us prisoner and then killed Jedi before Master Windu stopped him. Why should we help his kid?"

Kenobi's lips thinned. "Because he is not his father, Anakin, and isn't responsible for his actions."

"But he was raised by that ba- uh, bounty hunter!" Whatever he'd been about to say lost its teeth in the light of Kenobi's full glare.

Boba considered what sound his head would make against the deck if someone tripped him. Being that tall ought to be illegal. "At least I wasn't raised in the Temple. Do they not teach manners there?"

"Hey!"

Kenobi rose and went over to gently but firmly take Anakin's arm to usher him out. "As I recall, we have discussed waiting for permission before entering, several times."

"If you don't want someone to come in, you should lock the door," Anakin said as if it was the most reasonable thing in the galaxy.

"Yes, because that's always stopped you before." Kenobi paused at the door and clasped the teenager's shoulders with both hands. "You need to remember that people are not targeting you personally when they require privacy." He looked over at Gecko, whose lips had thinned into that, I want to laugh but I don't want to get yelled at, expression. "We're done here for now. I'll comm you once I have a few hours free to help with his ship."

"Yes, sir." Gecko looked at Boba and tilted his head. "C'mon, short stuff. We can go spar for a bit."

Boba sighed - watching the taller boy get talked to like Kenobi was his buir was fun - and hopped down. As he passed Kenobi, he glanced up. "Thanks, by the way. It's not, like, what I was hoping for? But I think I can manage."

The Jedi smiled and patted his shoulder. "I know you can."