"So I'm a foundling?" Boba asks, "But what is that exactly?" Boba asks with a tilt of his head, trying to figure it out. Satine covers her mouth with her hand, trying to very politely, not laugh at the boy.
She can't help it though, every time he looks confused, his face scrunches up in the most adorable way.
"When a Mandalorian finds a child that is lost, then that Mandalorian has to either bring the child back to his home, or they have to raise them there self," She explains, "Jango found you, and with no parents to return you to, he's taken you in himself, making you a foundling, and his son," She says.
Boba nods his head slowly, a look of understanding washing away any confusion, as he spins in the rotating chair. Satine finds it hard, again, to not laugh at the child.
"You're going to make yourself sick if you keep doing that," She says to him as his face comes back around, giving her an inquisitive look.
"I'm really good with not getting sick," He says, waving it away, looking very scholarly, "So you're the Duchess of Mandalore, but dad's the Manda'lore, so who's in charge?" He asks, leaning back in his chair, and looking up at the ceiling of her ship.
"Jango is, my position is more like a secondhand to an actual leader, I'd advise and lead in his stead while he's gone," She says gesturing in the same way that Ben does when he teaches, "But I'm not the Mandalore, that's why I need Jango's help, my people will listen to him," She says looking back down at her datapad, reading the recent news of what's been going on while she's been gone from Mandalore.
"And dad needs to do what to help everyone?" Boba asks, his confused face scrunching up as he scratches his head. Satine gives a little sad sigh, looking back up from the news.
"Your father is the only Mandalorian that everyone will listen to, because of something called the Reso'nare, it's the creed that every one of my people follows," She says, putting her datapad down, and leaning closer to Boba, "And one of the tenets of it says that everyone must follow the Manda'lore," She finishes, a little smile coming to her face.
"But how does that help you guys, the bad guys aren't gonna just stop because someone tells them to," Boba says, scowling at the problem.
"Your right," She says nodding, "but the rest of my planet, will finally be united under one cause, which will definitely be a big help, especially when we fight the bad guys," Satine says laughing lightly.
"We just have to hope Obi-Wan can start him on the path of being a leader," Satine says, looking out the window, towards the city, before looking at the time on her data pad. It's already mid-day.
Jango slowly walks forward, each one of his steps silent as it shifts the sand below him. Again, wishing that he had his armor, as his eyes try and adjust to the dark, trying to see even an inch in front of himself.
He keeps a hand on his blaster, his eyes roaming over everything, and the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He can hear the whispers of the wind, flying through the tunnel, but it was unnerving to feel none of it.
"Jango," A voice calls from ahead, cloaked in the darkness. He stops, his hand twitching, wanting to aim at it, but he forces the urge down.
"Who's there?" He calls instead, scowling. The only thing he hears in response is his own breath, shallow as he waits. Growling a little, he starts walking again after a minute, impatient with this nonsense.
As he goes, he looks into the halls, the long dark halls that are at his sides, one after the other, each one leading to something completely unknown. He thinks about heading down one, probably best to go a single direction, he thinks to himself though, shivering at the thought of getting lost down here.
"Brother!" Another voice calls, distorted, muffled, and echoing all around him. Jango quickly looks around, aiming his blaster all around, his eye's narrowed and his finger ready.
Though he doesn't get the chance to pull it. His feet leave the ground, and tendrils of pressure surround his body, lifting him in the air, and pulling him, flying him down further into the darkened halls of the Jedha ruins.
His blaster dropped to the sand, and the only thing that could be heard is the wind that wasn't there.
Calmly, Obi-Wan waits, standing with his hands behind his back outside the door Jango had gone through. He looks back towards the streets of Jedha, the bustling city thriving even out here, at the edge of it, where no one is buying or selling anything.
He draws his hood over his head a little tighter, covering his face from any passing strangers that want to look a little closer at the distant doors of the temple. It wouldn't do for anyone to recognize Satine's protector.
His eyes keep straying back to the massive doors, wondering how Jango is faring, and what he's seeing. It could be several things, theirs is no point in trying to guess which one, he thinks to himself with a slight smile.
That would be a way his former Padawan passed the time, something that he'd always try and draw him into, speculation and rumor. He acted like an old woman who had nothing to do a lot of the time, he thought with a smile and a laugh.
Though his smile disappears, thinking a little more about his friend.
The call of hatred is still seared into his mind, and the burning heat of lava cloaked his skin.
He shakes his head slowly, closing his eyes, and releasing his grief into the Force, letting it flow from him like water. He takes a deep breath, letting it go in a way he never was able to on Tatooine.
He chooses to remember his friend as he was.
"Kenobi," He hears, a deep mechanical voice, reverberating, shaking him to his core. With wide eyes, he turns to the giant doors again, looking at the solid stone.
"Obi-Wan," A much softer voice calls out, a very familiar voice, "Master," The young voice says, so much clearer the second time. Shakily, his hand reaches out, placing it against the stone, trying desperately to release a new wave of grief, and shock into the Force.
"It's shouldn't possible," He whispers, disbelief coloring his eyes, "and it isn't" He continues, slowly, his face settling back into a relaxed, albeit unnerved state.
"It's trying to show me something," He says, letting his hand fall, grazing against the old thing gently. Shaking his head again, Ben takes a step back, and turns around, letting his arms relax behind him again.
"Not today," He says blankly, staring out at the symphony of people crowding the streets before him.
"I'm meeting a friend," He says quietly, "and he needs my help much more than I need yours," He says to no one.
With a grunt, Jango lands on his back, rolling along the ground for a moment. He looks up fast, reaching for his blaster, scowling as he feels nothing there.
He stops though… stops moving, stops breathing. All around him are his brothers and sisters, Mandalorians of old walking around in their old camp, Jaster's camp. Ghosts, Jango thinks, slowly standing up.
He could feel the cool breeze flush against his skin, and the heat of Mandalore, the beautiful star, warming him. A few unwilling tears well in his eyes, his breath labored in his heavy clothes.
Heavy? He thinks, looking down. His eyes are wide, his armor, the beskar armor that was given to him by his buir, in its full glory. He can't help the ludicrous laugh that comes out of him, disbelief reverberating through as he takes a step back, looking around again.
"Jango," A familiar voice calls from behind him, an old voice. He turns around, and his buir stands there, smiling at him.
"Jaster…" Jango breathes out, walking forward, clasping his arm against the Manda'lore's.
"How?" He asks desperately, smiling at his once mentor. Jaster though doesn't answer, just staring into his ad's eyes, giving him a hollow look.
"Buir?" He asks quietly, letting his arm drop to his side, frowning in confusion.
Jango only had a second to react before a blue blade of light pierced through his buir's chest, making him take a quick step back to not be impaled himself.
"No," he whispers, horror running through him, just like last time, as the blade retracts, leaving Jaster standing there, his eyes turning white, his skin turning pale, cracking. Jango steps forward, grabbing Jaster and resting him on his knee, as he looks up.
He sees no one, no Jet'ii to blame. Desperately, he grasps his buir's shoulders, holding him close as he looks around, and sees no one there anymore, no one to help.
"Jango," His buir gasps in a pained wheeze, making him look down at the dead man. It's hard to look him in the eye, looking like this, but Jango forces himself to be there for his buir.
He watches as his father slowly turns to dust in his arms. He lurches forward, his hands flat against the grass as he stares blankly.
"What could you have done?" A young boy says behind him, "How could you have known, how could you have stopped it," the child says, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Jango looks at the hand, his eyes following up his arm until he's met with the face of Boba.
"What could you have done?" He repeats gently.
"I should have done something, anything," Jango whispers, leaning back, staring at his lap. Boba's hand stays firm on his shoulder, as the boy quietly takes a knee beside him.
"But you didn't, because you didn't know," Boba says. Jango finally lets a tear fall, shaking his head, a torrent of hate and anger rolling through him, but above all that, sits sadness.
"And because of that you get me," He says, his voice shifting to a deeper tone, an unnatural grating to it that a boy shouldn't have. Jango looks at him, and see's a Mandalorian, in green armor, identical to his own. Though he takes note of all the damage done to it, the paint and the dents.
"You get a son, at the cost of a father," He says through his helmet, dipping his head in respect. The black eyes of his visor looked into Jango's soul, reflecting it back at him to see a pale imitation of the man he'd once been.
"You lost the time you had with him, but you can be so much more to the kid you picked up, you can make that time for him," Boba says, standing, taking his helmet off with a smile.
"You raised me to be just like him," He says softly, as the world goes dark once again. He can feel the grass fading, slowly being replaced with grains of sand, the cool breeze turning into an old stale air.
Jango's eyes adjust once again to the light, and he finds himself in the same sandy hall he'd been in before, still on his knees.
He takes a moment, slowly processing, before he stands, grabs his blaster off the floor, and turns back the way he came, back to the Jet'ii that had taken him here.
His face is set in stone as he walks, stumbling, the weight of the past on him, and the weight of the future. As he walks through, with each step, he can feel that heavy load getting lighter.
The pressure wanes as he thinks of Boba, the next Manda'lore, the one after him.
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