He had never meant to take on a foundling.

While he was grateful that the Mandalorian's has taken him in as a foundling, he had long ago decided that it was not something he was ever going to do himself. Sponsoring the foundlings and watch them grow from afar was all he wanted. Raising a child was stressful enough, let alone raising a child within the Mandalorian ways. Besides, he was content with his life was it was; alone, never staying in one place too long, taking whatever job that may come along. That was no life for a child, and he had no desire to change his way of life anytime soon.

Yet change is exactly what happened on that fateful day.

He had taken on a job hunting down a Devaronian. Most of his bounties were required to be produced alive for payment to be received but this one was different. They wanted him terminated immediately and he could understand why. The Devaronian has been travelling from planet to planet, slaughtering anything or anyone that he came across. He was a stone-cold murderer that needed to be stopped.

He was not the first hunter they had sent after him. He was the 12th. Every hunter who had gone after him was now dead. They were having a hard time finding a hunter to accept the job now, even after tripling the payment. Truth be told, he would have taken on the job for free. He had a lot more emotions that he cared to admit, and the thought of someone out there mercilessly killing innocent families made his blood boil. It reminded him of his own tragic childhood.

He tracked the Devaronian to Gahlik, a small, barren planet on the outer rim. It was sparsely populated with most of the inhabitants being poor refuges escaping their war-torn home planets. He landed the Razor Crest on the outskirts of a small village. Before he left the ship, he mentally went through all of the weapons he had on him, a habit he developed to make sure he was never caught missing one. His Amban sniper rifle was slung over his back, the vaporizing slugs it used strapped to his leg, his blaster holstered at his hip, a vibroblade stowed in each boot.

The adrenaline was already starting to pump through his veins. He wasn't scared, not that a Mandalorian would even admit to such a feeling even if they were scared. He was excited. This is what he loved to do. He was a hunter, stalking down his prey.

As he walked towards the village, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he was on alert. It took him a second to place what was wrong; the silence. A normal village would be filled with the sounds of playing children, vendors trying to sell their wares, the sounds of people going about their daily routine. The sounds of life. There was absolutely no noise coming from the village. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots was the only sound reaching his ears.

As he began walking through the village, he soon saw why there was no noise. Everyone was dead. Bodies were strewn across the ground. He briefly bent down to inspect the body of a man, trying to determine the cause of death. It appears no weapons had been used, the Devaronian had killed them with his bare hands. The further he walked into the village, the worse the massacre became. Limbs ripped from bodies, heads bent at unnatural angles, pools of blood creating small trickling rivers weaving through the gravel. His eyes swept through the carnage, quickly looking elsewhere whenever he came across the bodies of children. He found the body of a baby, wrapped in a blanket, still clutched within his dead mothers arms. He clenched his fists as anger rolled through his body. He wanted nothing more than to find this man and instil onto him all of the fear and destruction he had done to these people.

He kept his hand poised over his blaster, ready to grab it at a moment's notice. The blood on the ground had only just begun to congeal and the bodies were still warm. He could still be here, or he had just missed him. He crept through the village, ears alert for any sound. He was considering moving onto the next village when the sound of a scream pierced through the silence. His head whipped around to the direction of the sound. It was the scream of a child; a primal, life-fearing scream.

He sprinted towards the sound, jumping over the bodies of those already fallen. The child screamed again and he felt his heart constrict. If he got there too late...
Following the screams, he ran into one of the small huts and took in the scene before him. The Devaronian was standing in the middle of the room, his hands dripping blood from the tens of people he had already slaughtered. In the corner of the room, huddled beneath a table was a small child. She looked around 7 years of age, and even from a distance, the terror in her eyes was clear. A child seeing a Devaronian for the first time would be enough the scare them, with their red skin and devil looking horns atop their head. Seeing one for the first time after it had just murdered your entire village would be enough to scar the kid for life.

Less than a second had passed since he had arrived and the Devaronian was yet to notice his presence, but the child spotted him straight away. She let out a small whimper, obviously unsure if he was there to help her or the Devaronian. The monster took a step towards her and Din reacted immediately. He unholstered his blaster and fired off 3 shots, enough the take down a normal person but with the Devaronian's thick sick, they didn't make a dent.

The Devaronian turned around and let out a grunt. He charged at Din and landed a punch square on his chest. His beskar absorbed most of the force but it was still enough to knock him off his feet, flat onto his back. He scrambled back onto his feet to see the monster advancing on the child, who was trying to back up further but there was nowhere to go. Din raised his arm and deployed his fibercord whip with a grappling hook at the end. It wrapped itself around his neck and with one hard tug, sent him tumbling to the ground. He used his momentary advantage to get the monster away from the kid, pulling him via the cord out of the hut. The Devaronian managed to unravel the cord from around his neck within a matter of seconds.

He fired off a blast from his flamethrower that yet again had no effect against his tough skin. The Devaronian charged at him and both of them went crashing to the ground. He didn't even have a moment to catch his breath before he was picked up by the monster and slammed back down onto the ground. He was picked up again, this time thrown against the wall of the hut which easily dented under his weight. He grabbed his rifle and swung it off his back, ready to vaporise the monster into nothing but he had already grabbed hold of the barrel and ripped the weapon from his grasp, throwing it far out of reach. He was picked up and thrown again. As Din rolled and got back into his feet, he reached for the vibroblade stashed in his boot.

The ultrasonic vibrations that the blade gave off made it more effective than just a normal knife, being able to cut through most armour. He was sure it would be enough to penetrate the Devaronian's tough skin and kill the bastard. The monster charged at him again, and just before he reached him, Din ducked and dodged to the side. As the monster turned around Din was ready. He sunk the blade deep into the Devaronian's throat and pulled. Black blood spirted from the wound, quickly coating the front of the monster's clothes. It was a fatal wound but Din wasn't stopping, sending the blade into his chest again and again and again. He collapsed to the ground, unmoving, as his thick black blood pooled beneath his body. It was a quicker death than he deserved. He'd wanted the monster to suffer, to feel the fear he had made all of these poor people feel.

Din holstered the blade back into his boot and took a moment to catch his breath. It was only when he heard the quiet sniffle from a crying child did he remember the kid still in the hut. He made his way back inside to see the child was still in the same position, underneath a table with her knees drawn up to her chest. As he slowly approached her, he could see her recoiling and trying to make herself smaller.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, his voice slightly distorted by the helmet's modulator. "You're safe now. The bad man's gone."

He crouched down to look at her under the table. She was staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, clearly still afraid. He couldn't blame her. Here was a faceless man, dressed in bloodstained armour, trying to get her to trust him after she had just gone through an unspeakable horror. Seeing her crouching in the dark, alone, quickly reminded him of his own childhood horror. His mind flashed back to that dark day; the sounds of gunfire and explosions ringing in his ears, seeing his parents terrified faces as they placed him in the bunker alone, quickly followed by the sound of an explosion that no doubt resulted in their deaths. All the emotions he felt that day came flooding back and he understood exactly what the small child was feeling right now. He remembered seeing the Mandalorian open up the bunker and stare down upon him, the fear at not knowing if this faceless man was a friend or enemy.

"You can't stay here. We need to go," he said softly, repeating the words which were once spoken to him. "You can trust me, I won't hurt you."

He reached out a gloved hand towards the child. She looked from his helmet, down to his outstretched hand. He could practically see the thoughts going through her mind, wondering if she should trust him, what she would do if she rejected his hand and ran. Finally, after a minute of waiting, she slowly reached out and took his hand with her own. She crawled out from beneath the table, stood and looked up at him. Now she was out of the darkness he could see her properly.

She was small, barely reaching his hip in height, with long dirty blonde hair and sea blue eyes. She was dressed in a ragged tunic dress which had seen better days, and frayed boots which looked like they would fall apart on her feet at a moment's noticed. The terror in her eyes had lessened but was still there. There was a spray of blood that had dried upon her cheek, probably the blood of one her parents. He wondered if her parents had hidden her in her, just like his parents had tried to hide him.

He realised there was something he needed to do first before he could get the child out of here.

"There's something I have to do quickly. You stay here, I'll be right back, I promise." She gave a small nod in understanding.

Din let go of her hand and went back outside. He first gathered his rifle which had been flung from him before making his way to the Devaronian's body. He grabbed the blade from his boot again and swiftly sliced the horns from his head. Proof of termination.

He stowed the blade and horns away and returned to the hut. How was he supposed to get her back to the Razor Crest without her seeing all of the carnage in the village? The bodies out there were people she knew, children she played with, and at least one of them was probably her parent. Knowing they were dead was one thing, seeing their mangled bodies was another. That was an image she would never be able to get out of her mind.

He knelt down so he was level with her face. "I'm going to take you to a safe place. I'm going to carry you to my ship but there are some bad things out there that I don't want you to see. I want you to close your eyes and not open them again until I say. Can you do that?"

She nodded. "Ok, close your eyes now."

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm going to pick you up now. Remember, don't open your eyes." He picked her up gently and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his chest and her arms around his neck. He placed an arm underneath her body to support her and the other one wrapped around her back. He realised this was the first time he had ever held a child. He hoped he was doing it right; it was the way he had seen parents carrying their children before.

He glanced over to make sure her eyes were still shut before stepping out of the hut. He walked as quickly as he could, stepping over bodies and puddles of blood. Every now and then he would look over to make sure she wasn't looking. Her eyes remained firmly squeezed shut. He let out a breath of relief when the Razor Crest came into view. He walked up the ramp and into the ship before he gently lowered the child to the ground.

"You can open your eyes now."

Slowly she opened her eyes. He noticed that they were slightly red, no doubt from the tears she had shed while fearing for her life.

"You're safe now."

She began looking around at his ship. It was dark, dirty, and small, but it was home for him. As she glanced around his attention was bought back to the blood on her face. He didn't have a lot of mirrors in the ship, having no real need for them, but there were enough shiny things around the ship that she could see her reflection in. He would hate for her to see the blood of her family and friends on her face.

"You have some dirt on your face. Let's get you cleaned up."

He walked over to this storage area and pulled out some cloth. She quickly trailed after him, as if afraid to be too far from him. He damped the cloth with some water from his canteen and knelt down to her. He wiped at her cheek softly, the dried blood slowly coming off. He had made sure to pick a dark cloth so she would not be able to see the red blood staining the cloth as he wiped it off her face. After her face was clean, he wiped each of her hands to get some dirt off them. He stood back up. She looked up at him and pointed at his chest. He looked down and saw his armour had the black blood of the Devaronian on it.

"I got some dirt on me too." He used the same cloth to quickly wipe the blood from his beskar, grateful that the blood was not red.

As he threw the cloth aside and the silence settled in the ship, he realised he had never really spoken to a child before. What was he supposed to say to her? All of the words he thought about saying to comfort her just seemed so inadequate. There was nothing he could say now that would make her feel better. All that could help her heal was time and support.

He settled back down onto his knee so he could look straight into her eyes. "What's your name?" he asked.

She bit her lip but said nothing as she stared at his helmet.

"My name is…Din." He had not said his own name aloud for many years. He had briefly considered lying about his name, or simply saying it was 'Mando' as many people automatically did. Names were important and not something freely given out. They had to be earned, only disclosed to people you respected and trusted. Yet as he stared into the blue eyes of this small child, he felt compelled to tell her the truth; to give her a part of him so she didn't feel so alone.

She continued to remain silent. Did she not speak Basic? She certainly understood it as she had followed his directions to close her eyes earlier. Was there another language that her people spoke? Was she mute? Was just choosing not to speak? Maybe she was just too scared to say anything. He had heard of people not talking after going through a trauma. It was some sort of coping mechanism or something.

Not being able to see his face probably wasn't helping her to feel any better. "I can't take my armour or helmet off. It's a rule with my people."

She simply continued to stare at him. That's when it finally hit him. He had a child in his care. He had no idea how to take care of a child. What did they do? How often did they need to eat? How much did they need to sleep?
He had no idea what he was supposed to do next. There was no way he was capable of taking care of anyone but himself. Flying around the galaxy and hunting people for money was no life for a child. He couldn't take care of her so he had to find someone who could. Someone more heartless than him might have just left her on her planet, or found the nearest city to dump her in and run. It was not a good time in the galaxy to be an orphan. There had been rumours of children being snatched to be raised in the Empire, learning to fight and kill people when they were barely big enough to hold the weapons.

He wasn't going to leave the kid with just anyone. He needed to know she would be taken care of. At the back of his mind he knew there was always the option of her becoming a foundling. Mandalore, like many other planets, had seen wars erupt and casualties lost. Some of the tribes had already moved their foundlings off-world to be raised. He could find a tribe willing to raise her as their foundling and leave her to be raised with them. At least then he knew she would be well looked after. Mandalorians valued children above all else. Foundlings are the future. But he wasn't ready to decide what to do with her just yet so she would stay with him in the meantime.