* Warning: Very heavy chapter, in terms of tone and action.
Signet
The Child's world was still dark when he awakened. He was surrounded by rough scratchy fabric. Wind was beating against it, but there was no airflow. This felt too familiar.
From what he could tell, he was in some sort of sack. With a disoriented whimper, he pushed his hands and feet against the cloth walls. He was turning himself upright, in order to see out of the flap.
The buzzing was all around him. The flap kept slapping over his face, providing horrible visibility. From what he could see, there was a trooper on a speeder bike, and probably another one controlling the bike that the Child was dangling from. At some point, everything stopped, engines off.
His face was now completely covered. He couldn't free one of his arms to push the flap aside. Frustrated, he wriggled and whined.
"Knock it off."
He cried out when pain erupted against the top of his head. It almost knocked the wind out of him, and he coughed a little. He wriggled around again, trying with everything he had to climb out of the sack, grumbling stubbornly all the while.
Another collision against his head.
He cried out again, and stopped his efforts.
"I said, shut up! Yeesh."
He listened to the troopers' casual conversation. Straining his ears, he tried to make sense of it, but couldn't. He even heard blasters at some point, but it didn't pique his interest, as it didn't exactly sound like a fight.
He settled at the bottom of the sack, absolutely still and silent. All of this felt too familiar.
It almost felt being back at the settlement.
He hated that he wasn't putting up a struggle. But what could he do? He flexed his tiny claws a little, debating. Could he use his abilities from in here?
…Would the man even want him to use his abilities?
The troopers were talking faster, almost arguing. Suddenly, the flap opened. He couldn't see the sky or the landscape, just the cold helmets of the troopers as they stared down at him.
"What is that," one of them asked. The Child remained still while a finger poked his forehead.
"I don't know. It's a pet or something."
The Child was poked and prodded a few more times, specifically on a part of his head that was still sore. He'd had enough of this.
He squeaked indignantly. Biting down, his teeth closed around a finger with a crunch.
The trooper cried out, and stepped backwards, the flap of the sack closing in the process. Then, another hit, this time against the side of his body. He yelped loudly.
He needed to get out. He needed to be anywhere but here.
A droid's footsteps approached.
Moff Gideon, of all the ranks and of all the people, had them pinned down in that cantina. He knew their full names. He even knew their pasts. They listened to his words, his weak negotiation tactics, and Din bristled at how his name sounded coming from an enemy.
Only those he held dear – like the covert – should ever utter it.
Their situation wasn't good. At all. They were dangerously outnumbered, and outgunned. With a Moff backing up a potential fight, the odds were not stacked in the way they originally wanted. Din and his friends had expected none of this.
There was only one thing of comfort. Gideon was negotiating. With his firepower and manpower, he didn't need to. But all of this meant that the Child was still safe. Somewhere. And not in the hands of the Empire. Kuiil had yet to respond, though.
Cara paced the cantina, and Greef took shots of spotchka at the bar.
Din tried the comlink again. His voice was no longer frantic, but rather resigned to their current situation. "Come in, Kuiil." He paused. "Kuiil." He put the comlink down. "Nothing."
"They might've jammed the link," Cara suggested.
Then, for the first time in so many minutes, there was a click on the other end. It wasn't Kuiil's voice that responded.
It was exhilarated coos, and even laughter.
Din knew that the Child was safe, but to hear it for himself was ideal. Even though it sounded like the engine of a speeder bike in the background, rather than a chattering blurrg, Din felt nothing less than sheer relief.
And the Child sounded like he was having the time of his life.
Cara and Greef turned in the direction of the comlink with extremely confused looks. Din only shrugged at them.
"Kuiil has been terminated."
At the sound of IG-11's voice, Din's entire body tensed, and he held the comlink up to his helmet. "What did you do," he demanded.
"I am fulfilling my base function."
"Which is?"
"To nurse and protect." The engine of the speeder bike whirred louder, and the comlink disconnected.
Before Din could even think of something, anything – like figuring out an impossible way to shoot that damned droid through the comlink – the sounds of blasters and fighting could be heard. At what seemed like breakneck speed, the sounds were coming closer and closer to the cantina.
Cara, Greef, and Din braced themselves, not knowing what was going to happen next.
An IG droid on a speeder bike, not gripping the handlebars, speeding its way through the town, and shooting Imperials was a little unexpected. But even more strange was seeing a little child, in a ratty old sack, slung protectively over the droid's chest.
Din had never seen anything quite like it.
The droid ditched the bike at the last second and dropped in the center of the Imperial platoon that surrounded the cantina. The effort was pretty much futile with how outnumbered the droid was. It would need help.
The Child needed help.
Din asked Cara to lay down cover fire. With that as a distraction, he didn't hesitate. He kicked down a door and left the cantina, shooting any Imperials that got in his way.
Moff Gideon stepped around the carnage, walking straight towards Din.
Yet again, everything went to hell.
Eventually, they were able to retreat back inside the cantina. It wasn't much safer, but they were out of options.
And Din was running out of time. His wounds were fatal. From what Din could feel, he had an injury to his head, or upper neck. Before Cara laid him down against a section of a collapsed wall, he caught a glimpse of the Child. He was alive, and safe. And he was looking around with concerned curiosity.
Din handed Cara a pendant, depicting a mythosaur skull. He asked her to take it and the Child to the covert, to keep them safe.
Before any of them could move, an inferno filled the cantina.
Fire was all around them, streaming in from doorways and windows. Smoke stung the Child's lungs and eyes. He gazed around at the destruction, but his eyes kept going back to the man. He was lying down, almost unconscious, and he seemed to be in so much pain he could barely move.
The droid was currently the only one taking action, by aiming one of its blasters at a grate in the wall. No one else moved. No one fought. The Child didn't understand it. If they did nothing, how were they going to get out of this?
They were all tired and battered, and the fight seemed to have been sapped out of them. The Child knew that feeling all too well. No one should ever feel that way, least of all the man, who was normally a force to be reckoned with.
The Child shuffled out of the sack, and stood behind Cara, at a distance, unsure as to whether they even wanted his help. His ears twitched, hearing the grunts of stifled pain muffled by a beskar helmet.
The Child murmured helplessly.
The man had rescued him from the settlement, had protected him on their journeys, had shown him kindness when the rest of the universe turned a blind eye. The man did something that no one had done for him in years, maybe even decades.
…He chose to care about him.
And now he was dying.
A trooper entered a doorway, flamethrower in hand, the same one that was slowly destroying the cantina.
The Child murmured again, and stepped forward. He couldn't talk. He couldn't communicate with any of them. He couldn't prevent the man's death. He couldn't convey that he also cared about him. But he could prevent what was about to happen to all of them. He could do this.
The trooper aimed the weapon.
Taking a deep breath, subconsciously knowing this would be bigger than the mudhorn, the Child raised his hands. Almost immediately, he felt an unseen force rushing between his claws; a fierce protectiveness.
Just as fierce as the Mandalorian.
The trooper pulled the trigger. A column of fire erupted from the barrel, heading straight for them in a single blast. The Child held his ground, standing directly in front of it. Though it blazed, though it was searing hot, the flames never touched any of them.
It passed over and around the Child's body, and even stopped before it could go any further.
The Child's eyes were squinted, his eyelids getting heavier with every passing second. Fatigued, he had to drop one of his hands and think quickly.
Get the fire away. That was the goal. Protect him. Protect them all.
With the other hand, he flicked his wrist, reversing the direction of the fire. The trooper screamed. There was a blast. Flames crackled like campfires.
The Child slowly fell backwards, until his back met the ash-covered floor of the cantina. His eyes drifted shut. When he woke up, whenever that would be, he hoped – beyond all hope – that the man would still be alive.
The universe was a dangerous, mysterious, and incredible place. It was impossible to know everyone, see everything, and to explore every nook and cranny.
Very few things were as incredible as watching a small and mysterious child stopping fire in its tracks.
Just as the Child had saved him from the mudhorn, this time he saved all of them.
The Child fell to the floor.
Din needed to get up. He needed to go to him. Instead, the back of his helmet fell against the wall with a pained huff. His vision tunneled and cleared and blurred. In and out. Caused by blood loss or the injury itself, he didn't know which. Could be both.
He heard the grate clanging open, the entrance that could lead to the covert. And he still couldn't move at all. He had no strength left in him.
…He couldn't take care of the Child anymore. Couldn't even say a proper goodbye to him.
He trusted Cara to get them all out safely.
The droning voice of a droid bombarded his hearing. "Escape and protect this child," IG-11 was saying to Cara. "I will stay with the Mandalorian."
Din's teeth gritted, not agreeing to that whatsoever.
"Promise you'll bring him," Cara growled.
"You have my word," the droid agreed.
Droids were stubborn, like talking to a brick wall. This droid refused to put him out of his misery, refused to leave him alone, and refused to admit that it was still a hunter, designed only to kill. It couldn't be anything else. Certainly not a nurse, whether it protected the Child or not.
"I need to remove your helmet, if I am to save you." The droid reached towards Din.
His helmet shifted. He raised his blaster to stop him. "…Try it, and I'll kill you." He took a breath, at least what remained of it. "It is…forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I…swore the Creed."
IG-11 paused. "I am not a living thing."
Din decided right then and there that this had to be the most stubborn droid in the galaxy. Maybe even the entire universe. It might also be the cleverest.
Din lowered his blaster. His helmet clicked and hissed as the droid carefully removed it.
He was no martyr. If the droid could in fact save him – though doubtful – he would let it try.
He wasn't dead yet.
In less than a day, Din had nearly lost the Child, Kuiil had perished, Din had to remove his helmet in order to be saved by a droid, and they stumbled upon a graveyard of beskar armor. Armor that belonged to his people – his covert.
According to the Armorer, the fate of their fellow Mandalorians was unknown.
The bacta spray was slowly healing him, and they all now had a chance to rest. But damn it all, he couldn't calm himself. The universe had nearly taken everything from him today, had tried to strip him of all things that made him a Mandalorian. And what it was successful in taking had brought him bitterness.
He couldn't understand how the Armorer was still as serene as ever. Her voice was weary, but she collected armor and resources, going about her job as she always did. As if there was still a covert to lead.
As they followed her through the sewers and into the forge, the Child gradually came to. Din could hear his babbles, and he was glad that he was going to be alright. But all his attention was on the Armorer, sensing she had more to say. She requested to see the Child, and she regarded him carefully, with much interest.
In turn, not once did the Child look away from her.
Din told her of how incredible the Child was, the feats that he could accomplish. The Armorer was not surprised whatsoever. She spoke of the Jedi, enemy sorcerers that had a dark history with Mandalore.
She couldn't be saying…No. This child wasn't an enemy. Din refused to believe that for even a second.
"No," the Armorer responded. "Its kind were enemies. But this individual is not."
"What is it," Din asked.
As the Armorer continued her work, she said, "It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care."
The Armorer's words held weight. Din knew all of that already, had understood it from the very beginning. But he also remembered other parts of the Creed. Through his exhaustion, he was misreading her, and his words were unintentionally clipped. "You wish me to train this thing," he asked.
"It is too weak," she said. "It would die. You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind."
"Where?"
She was pouring smelted beskar into a small mold. "This you must determine."
"You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers."
The Armorer turned to face him. "This is the Way."
That phrase was usually one of comfort to Din, a reminder of the solidarity of his people. Instead, not only did it feel like a reminder of what once was, it also left more questions than answers.
Cara and Greef were ready to leave, already discussing a plan. Din wanted to stay behind to help the Armorer.
"You must go," she said to Din with finality. "A foundling is in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father."
Din stared at the Armorer's back as her words settled in his mind. He understood them for what they were. A task, a rite, a duty. Part of what made him a Mandalorian. No matter what had happened today, no matter what they had lost, he was still a Mandalorian. And that thought filled him with just a bit more strength.
From somewhere beside him, the Child cooed. While Din didn't look at him, he still listened to the wordless sound he had become so familiar with, even if he didn't always understand what it meant.
"This is the Way," the Armorer repeated. She turned to face him. "You have earned your Signet."
Signet?
A Signet hadn't even crossed his mind, not to mention whether he was worthy of it or not. The Armorer barely gave him time to react. She was already welding it into his armor.
Once done, the Armorer stepped back. "You are a clan of two," she declared.
The beskar Signet now permanently affixed to his pauldron shined against the fires of the forge.
It was in the shape of a mudhorn skull.
The Child was utterly fascinated by the forge. There was beskar everywhere, and the blue flames in front of him had the same shade as the skies of hyperspace. The other Mandalorian, who seemed to be referred to as 'the Armorer', was nice. She spoke calmly, seemed to take pride in her work, and she had the same neutrality as the man.
The man…The Child knew the man's name now!
The Armorer had mentioned it while passing something made of beskar to the droid. Most people in this universe used their names while communicating, but he never did for some reason. But now the Child knew it, and he could call him by it. Obviously, he couldn't speak it, but he knew it all the same.
Also…
The Armorer had called him something else earlier.
The Child knew it to be a title, and not a name of course. He knew what a father was. Well, surely he must've had one at some point, but it only added to the list of things he couldn't remember. Perhaps…he never actually had one. That couldn't be the case, but what else was he supposed to think? He couldn't recall those that might've cared for him in years past. For so long, all he knew was solitude and loneliness.
That changed so many months ago, at the settlement, when the doors of the pram opened, and stayed open. The man had opened those doors. He protected him and cared for him when no one else would.
"…you are as its father."
And the Child wondered if he was supposed to call him that.
Even in death, Kuiil was true to his word until the very end. IG-11 had proven his loyalty, his devotion to protecting everyone, not just the Child. While escaping through the last tunnel, stormtroopers awaited them for an ambush. IG-11 sacrificed himself by destroying them all.
And they still couldn't relax just yet.
Moff Gideon flew overhead and fired shots at them. From the ground, they couldn't take out an entire ship.
"Our blasters are useless against him," Cara huffed.
Greef had a quick suggestion. "Hey! Let's make the baby do the magic hand thing." When the Child looked over at him, Greef raised his hand. "Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing!"
Cara looked on with a dubious scowl, but Greef and Din stared at the Child, wondering if he actually was going to respond to that. Cooing, he raised one of his own hands, and waved in a 'hello' gesture.
Greef scoffed. "I'm out of ideas."
"I'm not," Din muttered, taking out the jetpack the Armorer had gifted to him. She had mentioned that it wouldn't listen to his commands just yet.
What better way to test that theory than by going up against a high-ranking Imperial who wanted to capture his foundling.
In the end, Din defeated Gideon. After attaching an explosive to the outside of the ship, Gideon lost control, and plummeted to the ground. His ship was destroyed upon impact. Din watched everything from the air, while he admittedly struggled with the jetpack a little. The wind whipped around him, clearing his head and lifting his spirits.
The Empire would no longer come after the Child. After so many weeks, months even, Din and the Child would finally get some peace.
Eventually, he had to land, and he caught up with Greef and Cara, and of course the Child.
"That was impressive, Mando," Greef commented as they all walked towards each other. "Very impressive."
Din looked towards the Child, who was being held by Cara, and looking no worse for wear.
Greef pointed skyward. "It looks like your guild rates have just gone up."
Din asked, "Anymore stormtroopers?"
"I think we cleaned up the town," Cara said. "I'm thinking of staying around just to be sure." She set the Child on the ground.
"You're staying here," Din asked.
"Well, why not," Greef asked. "Nevarro is a very fine planet. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it's very respectable again."
Din held back an amused snort. He and Greef had different opinions of a 'fine' and 'respectable' planet, but so be it. Cara and Greef talked about what they were going to do with the town now. Greef even offered for her to join the guild.
Din stopped listening when he felt something by his ankle. He looked down. The Child was lightly gripping his leg. He looked up at him brightly and cooed. But his ears flattened sideways and he was tilting his head, as if he was questioning something.
Before Din could respond to him, he felt Greef lightly clapping a hand to his shoulder. "But you, my friend," he was saying. "You will be welcomed back into the guild with open arms. So, go off, enjoy yourself. And when you're ready to return, you will have the pick of all quarries."
Din looked down at the Child again, who was still waiting for something. He knelt down.
As soon as the Child saw this, he held his hands up, and his ears perked ever-so-slightly. Din picked him up. Transferring him to one arm, he held him securely against his chest. "I'm afraid I have more pressing matters at hand," he said.
Cara stepped forward, and gently pinched one of the Child's ears. She looked at Din. "Take care of this little one," she said, and stepped away.
"Or maybe," Greef mused, pointing at Din. "It'll take care of you."
Din wasn't the best at goodbyes, but he knew for a fact that he would be back to visit. With or without the Child, he couldn't say. But he wouldn't soon forget how much Cara and Greef had helped him. He would see his friends again someday.
He turned away, activated the jetpack, and leapt into the air. The Child turned in his arm. Gripping the fabric of his cap, he looked over Din's shoulder. Din glanced at him, and he heard the Child coo happily.
As they flew back to the Razor Crest, Din thought about what he needed to do. If the Child had people, he would fulfill the Creed and find them.
"By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father."
For a split second, Din's arm tightened around the Child, though he didn't know why. Perhaps it was uncertainty that he felt, which would be a foreign feeling to him.
Being something of a father…was something he probably wasn't capable of. He simply didn't know how. The Armorer had to have seen that, and was probably just following the Creed. In Mandalorian culture, no matter how temporary the circumstances, this was considered an honor.
At the very least, by Creed, Din would be his guardian. The Child deserved that much.
He knew long ago, the very moment he met the Child, that he was a foundling. The Child needed him, and Din took up that responsibility before he even realized it. He still needed him.
So long as the Child had no one, he would look after him, until someone else could. He would be returned safely to where he belonged, even if Din died trying.
This was the Way.
Upon returning to the ship, he landed next to Kuiil's body.
Din stared down at him for a long time, unable to say a word. Unable to say a single adequate phrase that would not only convey his gratitude, but also how thankful he was to consider him a friend.
Din couldn't leave him like this. It would be disrespectful.
He began gathering stones and lava rocks. Carefully, he placed them one by one over Kuiil's body. The Child had moved further down his arm, resting quietly in the crook of his elbow, and watching what he was doing.
Once the cairn was completed, Din said a final silent farewell, and walked back to the Razor Crest.
They entered the cockpit. During all that had happened the last couple days, the crate had been misplaced, so Din had to set the Child down on the empty passenger seat. He didn't have a secure place to sit or sleep now, but Din would worry about that a little later. For now, he wanted to get off Nevarro, for a change of scenery.
Din heard gnawing from somewhere behind him. He assumed that the Child had ahold of the silver ball, but he saw that wasn't the case this time.
"What do you got there," Din asked.
Carefully and gently, he took the object away from the Child's mouth. It was the mythosaur pendant, the one he gave to Cara to show to the covert.
His throat tightened. "I didn't think I'd see this again." Din received that pendant when he was a child. It meant that the Mandalorians had accepted him, all those decades ago.
The Child stared at him, one of his hands raised in the air, hoping to take it back.
Din looked at him, and slowly passed it back to him. The Child resumed gnawing on it. "Why don't you hang onto that," he said.
As his foundling, it was only fitting that he should have it.
