Din was sinking through dark, cold water.

Again.

It was exactly like Mandalore. He had stubbornly insisted on going into the waters even though he was sick, exhausted, and not thinking straight. Like a fool he had plunged into an unexpected abyss. He had only survived thanks to Bo-Katan. She had rescued him again. He was losing track of the times she had rescued him. It was frustrating, frankly.

He understood very clearly this was some way his mind was dealing with impending death. It felt, a little, like the time he had barely scraped by on Nevarro thanks to IG (and to Kuill, whose soul was captured in the droid).

But neither IG nor Bo-Katan were here now. No one was.

Din sank and sank.

But now something came to him in the pure blackness. Some mighty presence, vast beyond Din's imagination. It regarded him now with patience, compassion, and amusement, seeing past all armor, seeing past all bone and flesh into his soul.

He thought the huge being spoke in a low, planet-splitting rumble.

Greetings, Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn.

And Din replied.

What are you?

What do you think I am?

You are nothing more than a hallucination. My mind is going.

If that is what you wish to think, son of Mandalore.

I am no son of Mandalore. I have again violated the Creed. I am defeated.

You are not defeated. Not yet.

I am badly injured.

Injuries may be healed.

I am dying. This place is…is too much for me. I am defeated and dishonored. I have failed my son and my people and my friends.

Your courage and strength will prevail. This is the Way.

Didn't you hear me? I am no longer Mandalorian. Even if I could reach Mandalore's waters again, redemption is no longer possible.

Why? Because you no longer wear helmet and armor?

Yes. I threw away my redemption. I allowed myself to be a prisoner.

Are the words of the Enemy then true? That Mandalorians are nothing without their trinkets?

Din could not reply.

You see this as proof of your failure. This is instead proof of your strength and fidelity to the Creed.

I don't understand.

I think you do. Tell me. Why did you first remove your helmet and armor, son of Mandalore?

To save Grogu.

And then, when he left with the Jedi, you removed your helmet to reveal yourself to him as his father.

I wasn't really his father then.

Do not be stubborn, son of Mandalore. You became his father when you first beheld him.

I put him in danger.

Your son was intended to be a warrior. After his many cruel years in darkness, you are guiding him back to his true destiny.

Still. I put him in danger.

And with a glad heart he accompanies you. You know I speak the truth. A father knows his child's heart, as only a child can know his father's.

Din was silent.

A prisoner? I see no chains.

Din was silent.

An apostate? You have removed your helmet and armor. This I do not deny. But ever you have done so to protect your son and fulfill your purpose as his father. Ever you have done so to defeat your enemies, defend your comrades, and ultimately bring glory to my people. These things are more important than your honor or the things you wear. The Creed is more than its words, despite what some may say.

Your people…?

I behold you now, Din Djarin, bathed in the blood of your Enemy. This to me is more worthy and more pleasing than when you bathed in my waters.

…Who are you?

Fear not, son of Mandalore. You are redeemed. Now take your place by your son's side. Rejoin your comrade. This is the Way.

###

"This is the way."

Din sat up.

Back in the Game Room, strewn with blood and bodies. Back to consciousness. Back to life.

The great voice echoed somewhere in the back of his mind.

A hallucination. A dream.

But I never remember dreams.

The pain was not gone but much lessened. The blinding agony in his broken nose was only faint echoes, even though his breathing was still difficult. His arm was sore, but no longer felt broken. And the terrible underlying pain in his side and abdomen was gone.

He tried to focus on his surroundings. His mind felt murky, his eyesight clearing only gradually.

At last he saw Grogu lying next to him, eyes closed. His stillness pierced Din's heart with horror. No. No no no. You shouldn't have tried. He picked up the little boy, held him close, studied his face anxiously, felt his chest and back. Beneath the mail, Din could detect slow, soft breathing. Asleep. Asleep was all. Din shut his eyes in utter relief. For a moment nothing else could matter beyond the child in his arms.

When he opened his eyes again he saw Mayfeld sitting and staring at him and Grogu in bleary amazement. He too was bloody and had the makings of a spectacular black eye.

"What did I just see, Mando?" he whispered. "What the fuck did I just see? I came to and saw you lying there. You were a goner, man. I know what it looks like when a man's about to die. And then there was the little guy. He sat with you, then passed out."

It was too hard to explain. "This is what he can do," said Din at last.

"And I guess he can do that too?" Mayfeld pointed upwards. A large hole has been blasted in the ceiling, blasted as if from the inside.

"Yeah."

"Guess that explains why the motherfucking Moff wanted him, huh?"

"Yeah." Din now studied Mayfeld. "Are you all right?"

"Frankly, I'm shitty, but I can function."

"Same." Din's eyes fell on a canvas bag, as did Mayfeld's.

"Is that…"

"Yeah."

For a long moment the two exhausted men simply sat in the middle of the carnage, Din holding and patting Grogu as he slept. "So this is a really touching emotional moment but we need to figure out how to get out of here," said Mayfeld finally.

"Agreed." They both staggered ungracefully to their feet. "This place is sealed off but how long until they know there's a…problem?"

"Yeah, I guess you could call this a problem." Mayfeld surveyed the slaughterhouse around them. "I have no idea. I don't know how long this Game Room shit is supposed to last. This is only my first day on the job. At some point they're gonna wonder where the Warden is. We're locked in. I think the Warden's vambrace was the only one that controlled these doors. Of course you destroyed it."

"Didn't have much choice. At least the floor is off."

"For now. We're here like sitting ducks. They have heavy weaponry, they can break these doors. Or there's a fail safe somewhere." He looked at the hole created by Grogu. "Those ducts big enough for us?"

"My son can use them but they're too small for either of us. He could barely push the armor through. And a lot of the vents are too small even for him."

"Can the kid help us?" Mayfeld frowned at the sleeping boy. "He looks all in."

"He's too exhausted. Healing people really takes it out of him and it takes him a while to recover."

"Will he be okay?" To his credit Mayfeld sounded genuinely worried about Grogu.

"I think so." Din took a deep breath. "I have two grav charges still in that bag."

"Well, hell, why didn't you say so? Now you're talking. But then we're gonna get a lot of company real fast."

"By then we'll both be back in guard uniforms. We'll say it was an accident of some kind. Then we get to the hangar. We'll take a ship and get to the Arena."

"What Arena?"

"It's like the Game Room, but the size of an abandoned town and full of violent non-human convicts. Merrix plans to stage gladiator games there."

"Oh great."

"Burg is there."

"Oh great."

"But there's also a safe room. We can regroup and make our next move. Get help. The energy field won't let us get off planet."

"Just gonna steal a ship and go. Got it."

"They make supply runs there to keep the Arena prisoners fed," Din said.

"Well, I hope they don't add two and two together and come after us."

Din set down Grogu as softly as possible, then scavenged among the guard corpses until he found several water bottles. It was important to stay hydrated while torturing prisoners. He tossed one at Mayfeld who greedily drank it down. Din washed as much blood off his face as he could, drank some, then got busy changing as quickly as his damaged body would allow.

He placed yet another Imp-made guard helmet on his head. His broken nose had mostly healed but was still quite tender. Putting on the helmet hurt. Then he went to the canvas bag and inspected the contents. Everything was there. He put the vambraces back in, then pulled out the cloak. Gently he wrapped Grogu in the tattered, familiar garment. The boy stirred and sighed. He did not wake, but perhaps the cloak was comforting. With extreme care Din put the Grogu bundle inside the bag.

"People are gonna wonder about this bag," said Mayfeld. He put his helmet back in place. "Ow. My face hurts."

"Can't be helped. We'll look for a cart or something."

"Or something," muttered Mayfeld. "What a plan."

"You got a better one?"

"No."

"You ready?"

"No."

"Let's go."

Mayfeld stayed back with the bag, hiding behind pillars, while Din set a charge on the north door, which seemed closest to the hangar. He made sure the smoke setting was set to high. Then he fell back to Mayfeld's position just in time for the explosion. It was thunderously loud, shaking the floors. Prisoners many levels below probably heard it, felt it.

Through the clouds of reddish-brown smoke emitted by the charge, Din saw the steel door crumpled. Deafened, he and Mayfeld communicated through hand signals. He and Mayfeld each took a side of the bag to hold, then moved toward the exit. Alarms already rang. Guards arrived, but held back at the acrid smell.

"Fire!" yelled Mayfeld. A very convincing Imp. "Explosion from the vents. Coolant leak or something. How the hell should I know? At least a dozen men. The Warden's in there. You gotta get everyone here you can."

Heads down, Din and Mayfeld headed against the oncoming rush of guards and prisoners pushing carts of fire fighting and first aid equipment. They turned a corner to the lift. "Hangar level," said Mayfeld. The doors shut, and then a short but agonizing wait. Both of them put their hands on their holsters, expecting a storm of blaster fire to greet them…

…but the doors opened and there was nothing but the normal, bustling busyness of the hangar. The chaos below had not impacted operations here. Cargo containers were loaded and unloaded by prisoners, ships were maintained, and guards supervised all. Din saw the transport that he had first taken from the Arena to the prison, a clunky gray thing meant only for on-planet flight. Mayfeld tilted his head. "Look."

An empty gray metal supply cart sat about ten meters from the lift. Still carrying the bag between them, they moved close to it and set the bag inside. "Gently," hissed Din.

"Fuck you, Mando," replied Mayfeld, but it was without venom. Then they started pushing the cart towards the Arena transport. They looked a little out of place because prisoners were the ones doing the heavy labor, but everyone ignored them. At last they arrived at the ramp to the ship. No one was there. Good.

Mayfeld sat down at the controls and pulled up the ramp. In the chaos of the hangar it went unnoticed. "We gonna do this?"

"Wait." Din picked up the bag of armor and moved to the rear of the ship.

"The hell are you doing?"

Din didn't answer. He was too busy stripping off the hated guard's uniform and helmet.

"Are you kidding me? You're changing now, here?"

"If we have to shoot our way out I'm wearing my armor." He paused. "Besides, do you want to carry this bag anymore? I can carry my kid."

Mayfeld sighed. "Just hurry up." He was polite enough to avert his gaze and kept lookout. He took off his own helmet. "Fucking buckets. What is the appeal of these things?"

Din took out Grogu and strapped the boy, cloak and all, into a seat. Then he pulled out his own garments. They were not exactly fresh smelling, but they were as familiar as his own skin. He strapped on each piece of armor, his muscle memory taking over. He moved quickly from long practice. It all needed a good cleaning, but later.

Finally, the helmet. Designed for the shape of his face, it put no pressure on his healing nose. He sighed in relief—he couldn't help it. Mayfeld turned around to see him pull on his boots.

"That's the Mando I know and love," he said. "Just when I was getting used to your mug, pretty boy."

Din sat next to Mayfeld. "Can you co-pilot?"

"Yeah, I can manage. But we're gonna need clearance to get out of here."

Din looked down at the comms panel, then back at Mayfeld. "Tell them we need to get more weapons there. If they give you trouble, say it's on Merrix's orders."

"Okay. Fine." Mayfeld cleared his throat. "Control room. This is Transport, uh, 696 requesting clearance for departure."

The speaker buzzed. "Transport 696, purpose of journey? You're not on the roster."

"Supply drop-off at the Arena," said Mayfeld, looking at Din. Din nodded encouragingly.

"That next drop-off isn't until tomorrow."

"This is a priority," said Mayfeld. He put authority in his voice. "Mr. Merrix himself wants a new shipment of experimental weapons. Got some VIPs wanting to see a good fight next week."

"Approval code?"

Mayfeld shut off the microphone briefly. "What the hell do I say?"

Din thought. "902 681" he said.

"Ah, 902 681, control room," said Mayfeld back into the microphone.

"Clearance granted. Proceed to portal three."

"Acknowledged." Mayfeld switched off the channel. "Whew. Gotta love how Imperials don't question orders. How the fuck did you know that code?"

"It's the same code for the safe room," Din said with a shrug. "Bounty Hunter Guild status code for experienced hunter."

"Merrix. What a stupid asshole." Shortly they made all preflight preparations and engaged the engines. "I hope this works."

"It will," said Din. The strange and ringing words of his vision still echoed in his mind, making him feel surprisingly calm and confident. This despite the fact that any minute someone would figure out they had actually been responsible for the Game Room massacre and would come after them.

Soon the ship was soaring above the canyon floor, away from the Panopticon. Din took the transport high into the atmosphere. It began to shake as they hit turbulence.

"Where are you going?" asked Mayfeld anxiously. "This piece of shit can't go off planet."

"I'm trying to escape the interference so I can send a call for help."

"To who?" Now he was suspicious.

"The New Republic. And anyone else who will listen."

Mayfeld kept his eyes ahead, but his voice grew urgent. "Mando. Djarin. Whatever your name is. I'm not going back to prison. Not the Panopticon. Not the chop fields. Anywhere. I'm getting back to Omera and Winta. Or I'll die trying."

"Mayfeld. Listen to me. I gave my word to Omera that I would bring you back. Got it?"

Mayfeld swallowed. "Got it."

While Mayfeld took the controls, Din moved to be back of the ship and recorded his holo message, a succinct account of where they were, what had happened, and who was behind it. Then he sent it to Teva's channel, and a few more for good measure—Mandalorian, Guild.

And all he could do was hope it went through.

He picked up Grogu and moved the cloak aside so he could study his face. He had slept through everything and Din didn't like it. "Buddy. Ad'ika," he whispered, rocking him a little. The little boy didn't wake up but his face relaxed a little, as if in a happier dream. An alarm sounded and Din strapped his son in, still cocooned in his cloak, back into a nearby seat while he retook the helm.

"We got company, Mando." Mayfeld sounded resigned. Two armed transports followed them. "Look on the bright side. No tie fighters."

"Hang on."

The transport was not exactly nimble or even very responsive, but at least it was evenly matched against their pursuers. And after many years flying the Razor Crest, Din could coax performance out of inadequate vessels. They swooped and dove through canyons and past jagged peaks. One of their pursuers fired, but strategically—not to destroy, but to force them down. They knew they must have the beskar, or at least know where it was.

But when Din fired back, he meant to destroy.

He hit the engine of the first ship. It hurled into the mountainside, then burst into a ball of fire. The second ship, with a more skilled pilot, was tougher to shake. Din led it away from the Arena, back toward the winding canyons. A jarring turn set Din's teeth on edge. The cart and some empty crates slid across the floor. He glanced quickly at Grogu, but he was still safely strapped in and sound asleep. Too bad, he enjoyed speed. They veered so close to a cliff wall that they could see the cracks in the rocks, individual weeds growing in crevices.

"That was too fucking close, you crazy buckethead!" yelled Mayfeld.

But it seemed to work, because they were no longer chased—they were now doing the chasing. The second ship came into Din's sights and he fired. Flaming wreckage tumbled to the bottom of the canyon.

Din now raced towards the Arena. He looked for the switch that would allow them to pass through the energy shield without frying and flipped it with moments to spare. As it descended, the ship crackled with electricity. He landed well away from the safe room in an empty square. No one in sight. Then with a sigh Din pulled up the map of tunnels from the ship's computer.

All was silent.

"We're sitting ducks," fretted Mayfeld. He looked at the bleak, crumbling square. A weight of watching eyes fell on them both. "I'm not sure this is a great idea anymore."

"Look at us," said Din wearily. "Neither of us are in shape to hike across the desert. And my kid needs rest too. We get to the safe room, we rest, heal, and get supplies, maybe even more weapons. They won't look for us here, at least not for a little while. If we were just guards trying to steal beskar, why would we go here? And how would we know the code to get in?"

"Okay, okay. Let's go to your safe room."

Din slipped on his jetpack and unwrapped Grogu from the cloak, resting him gently in a seat. The boy grumbled but didn't wake up. Din tied the fabric around himself as a makeshift sling, then tucked Grogu back in. Mayfeld rummaged in the hold and came back with three blasters. "You want an extra?"

Din accepted the spare. "We head to the northwest," he pointed to the map. "There's an entrance there. The code is 902 138. Are you ready?"

Mayfeld stood with a blaster in each hand, with two more in his holster and waistband. Spare cartridges bulged in his pockets. Like Din with his armor, he seemed more in his element. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Din hit the switch to lower the ramp.

"I'll go first but cover me." He shifted Grogu towards his back.

"Right behind you."

Slowly Din made his way down the ramp, weapons drawn.

The assault began as soon as he was several meters away from the ramp.

A single weapon blast hit the dust near Din's feet. Mayfeld instantly returned fire. A scream sounded from a roof. Another blast hit Din's pauldron like a hammer blow. He sprinted towards the remnants of a low wall and dove for cover. He fired in the direction of the sniper, covering Mayfeld as he ran. Several more armed convicts emerged from the surrounding structures.

"Tunnel's that way," said Din, nodding in its direction.

"If we can get there."

Two convicts ran into the open ship, while three others advanced on their position. Mayfeld and Din returned fire, bringing one down.

A familiar harsh shriek came from the sky.

Mayfeld cleared his throat.

"So remember when I said at least there weren't tie fighters?"

Two tie fighters dove toward the Arena, laying down fire on the square. The transport exploded, close enough that Din could feel the fireball's intense heat. One convict, a Twi'lek, was incinerated in another round of fire. The remaining two convicts fled in terror.

"Where in the shit did they come from?" asked Mayfeld.

"Gallia Varro brought Imp reinforcements," said Din.

They were now trapped in the Arena, pursued on the inside by convicts, pursued from above by the Empire, Merrix, and Varro. The safe room might still be safe, but for how long?

"I sure hope your New Republic buddies come through, Mando."

"I hope so too."

###

"A father knows his child's heart, as only a child can know his father's." ― Kazuo Koike, Lone Wolf and Cub, Vol. 1: The Assassin's Road

(I really recommend this manga if you are having a Mandalorian withdrawal problem.)

Thanks everyone for your comments and encouragement!