THE MASTER

The half-circle of younglings at his feet were staring up at him, wiggling and whispering, full of energy and curiosity—it was like teaching a herd of rabbits. They had arrived that morning, delivered by their parents, and he had watched as loving families separated at the gates of the temple. Mothers and fathers showered their children with kisses through their tears, and he watched as the children were given their instructions: obey the Master, learn from him, and be good.

"This is your first day here," he said. "I will not cause you more stress than necessary. Parting from your parents is difficult and painful, so today will be… fun, I hope."

One of the children—a dark-haired girl with a look of determination about her—raised her hand, and he nodded. "Yes, child?"

"Will I see my mother again?"

"I do not predict the future. What is your name?"

"Kerala Djarin, Master Teilo."

He studied the girl and smiled a little. Yes—his father was in this child. Strong-willed, fierce, protective, unafraid. Flawed. Kind. Proud. Devoted. Human. The Force was strong in her.

"You are from the great Clan Djarin."

She nodded, and he noted the not-inconsiderable pride the girl had in her family. She did indeed come from a great people among the Mandalorians. Mandalore the Protector—he remembered his father finding that title rather amusing ("More like 'Mandalore the Perpetually Confused," he had said on learning what the others called him.), but it had been an apt description.

"Seven hundred years have passed since Din Djarin marched away. He is not forgotten, and his own force is strong within you, is it not?"

"My father has told me the stories of our ancestor. He was the greatest Mandalorian of all."

Din would have laughed at such a notion. Teilo did not, however.

"He was indeed," he said. "You were named for his own mother."

"Yes, Master."

"Consider yourself doubly honored, child. You are a Mandalorian and a Jedi. Tell me… how is your family doing on Sorgan?"

"Very well, sir. My older sister Monevassia will be married in two weeks, and my brothers are training in the Way."

"Very good. Monevassia is still cheerful?"

"Always, Master. She smiles and laughs all the time."

Teilo smiled, pleased, and looked past the children and smiled at the guardians of the temple. Memories of his father's wedding to Omera Cassaleria, so many years ago, were some of the happiest of his life—it had been such a joyful day, and Winta—dear, wonderful Winta—had relished being her mother's attendant for the ceremony. Din Djarin had been nervous and almost forgot his vows, but he had certainly meant them, with his whole heart. Nine months later, Kelso Djarin had arrived, screaming in outraged indignation at being pushed into a cold winters' night. Teilo had still been a child then, but had been first (after his parents) to be allowed to hold the baby. Din had gone a bit weak in the knees, Teilo remembered, but he had never told anyone about it, and never would. Mandalorians don't admit to such things, nor do they admit to tears, and Tielo knew that Din had wept that night, too, away from everyone else, holding Teilo as he shed grateful, relieved tears at being given a son and that Omera had come through the ordeal in excellent health. Kelso had been the first of eight children: six strong sons and two beautiful daughters. Teilo still didn't know how Omera had managed it, but she had, and she had never complained even once. "Children are a blessing," she had said. "Only foolish parents can make them a curse."

Ten guards were stationed between the columns of the temple, and another ten stood at the gates. All Mandalorians. All members of Clan Djarin. They were all sworn to protect the younglings and padawans being trained in the temple, and would give their lives to save them from any harm. Teilo knew them all by name, and liked them. They were generally quiet, stoic men, but he knew their hearts… and their puckish sense of humor. They all enjoyed pulling pranks on him, and he was happy to give as good as he got.

The head of the clan and Commander of the Guards—Arazi Djarin—stood at the entrance of the training arena. He was not as tall as Din had been, but he was as strong as a Mythosaur and as ferocious in his devotion to the protection of the younglings as he was of his own children.

Little Kerala, Teilo knew, was his second-born daughter, and he had rejoiced on hearing she had been born with the Force. Arazi had been unnerved by it and her abilities, but Teilo had eased his worries by vowing to protect his little daughter and to train her well in the ways of the Jedi and of the Mandalorians, just as his great ancestor had done.

"Were you really raised as a Mandalorian?" one of the other children asked.

"I was." Teilo, startled from his memories, shuffled across the training yard and up to the armory. Several lightsabers were displayed there, but at its center was the Darksaber. "I am honored to call myself a Jedi and an honorary Mandalorian."

His father had had to go through such trials to protect him and retrieve the saber from Moff Gideon and the Imperial remnant, often resulting in pain, severe injuries, exhaustion, sorrow, and distress. Teilo wasn't entirely sure how his father had survived it all, but Omera had summed up the reasons for his actions quite succinctly, as she always did: Love.

"You were raised by my ancestor? Din Djarin?" Kerala asked.

"Yes, little niece," Teilo said, smiling a little. "So many generations have passed since his time and yours, and yet you carry yourself like him. With dignity and confidence, and if your father's reports of you are true, you have his courage and determination, too. Din Djarin was the most tenacious and strong-willed person I've ever known… and also the kindest."

The girl preened a little. "My mother never says that I can do something. She says that I will," Kerala said quietly. "She and Papa are like that. And I will, Master Teilo. I will serve with honor and courage."

"Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow's troubles, child. Pray you have Din Djarin's kindness and compassion, in addition to the traits needed to be a Jedi. But you need one more thing that I think the Jedi forgot to utilize at times, but that the Mandalorians—and Din Djarin—have always possessed and never surrendered."

"What is that, Master?"

"Love, child. My father had trouble saying what he felt, but his deeds spoke the words of his heart. Whatever troubles came—and many came, I assure you—he never gave up, and would not yield when it came to my safety and well-being, or that of Omera or his children. He could only have done it out of love. I did the same for him—we protected each other."

"Did he ever say he loved you?"

Teilo smiled. "A few times." He gracefully turned the saber in his hand, slicing through the air and hearing its low hum. "Words were not his forte. He even had trouble speaking what was in his heart to his beloved Omera. He returned to her after much travail, and they had eight children together—there's evidence enough of love if ever was. I watched them all grow up, and played with them. They were my siblings."

"Eight?" Kerala looked bewildered. "Why so many?"

Teilo wasn't about to tell the child that Din and Omera could barely keep their hands off each other. That kind of love—fierce, protective, unselfish and unyielding—could only result in many strong children.

"I suppose they didn't want nine."

Teilo turned to see Arazi standing behind his daughter, his hand on her shoulder. "Uncle."

"Nephew. Your little daughter is full of questions."

"As always. She asks questions all day."

"That is good. He who knows and knows he knows is wise. He who does not know and knows he does not know is smart—he can be taught. He who does not know and does not know he does not know is stupid, and he must be left behind."

"Then I suppose I needn't worry about this one," Arazi said. "Her greatest strength is her humility."

"That is good." Teilo touched the girl's forehead. "Never stop asking, child. Always be curious, and always be willing to learn, and always be humble. Stop learning and you stop living."

Arazi directed his daughter back to the little group of younglings and returned to his post at the gate. Teilo watched him walk away and couldn't keep from smiling. He would sit with Arazi tonight and talk about the family back on Sorgan—births and deaths and weddings and krill and laughter and squabbling and all the in-betweens. It had been because of Din Djarin that they were all well and safe and happy. They even tended to look like him—the same dark features and unyielding devotion.

Teilo turned the saber in his hand, remembering the battles he had fought with it as his own weapon. He had the scars to show for it, but he was alive and well, and was training up another generation to continue the fight against darkness. His father had used it, and with frightening efficiency, but did not like swords. In fact, he had never liked violence for the sake of violence. Such things were only done if all other options had been eliminated or if an innocent's life was in danger.

He fingered the Mythosaur skull hanging from the cord around his neck and smiled. Carefully, he extracted the silver gear ball from the Razor Crest from the pocket in his tunic and held it up to the light. Even today, he still enjoyed playing with it, as had Din Djarin's own children and grandchildren through several generations. The skull and the little silver ball were his two most prized possessions, along with the honor and duty his father had taught him. He was carrying on a great tradition now, and would continue to do so until he also walked away.

Teilo smiled and turned back to the younglings.

"So… who would like to hear the story of the Battle of the Mudhorn?"

Kerala smiled. She knew it already. Teilo touched her face, feeling his father's spirit in her.

How like him she is, he thought as he began telling the story.

Din Djarin would be proud.