A group of fish swam beneath a thick layer of ice, oblivious to the large hole above them. In a snap, a spear shot down, skewering two of them, and frightening the others. The ones that had been caught were brought up out of the water, and a feminine blue hand grabbed one and removed it from the shaft, and the one after that, putting both into a basket where they writhed until they were dead. The basket was then picked up by that same hand, brushing against the fabric of a thick gray cloak that swayed in the gentle winds, the wearer's hood and shoulders covered in a thin layer of snow from the blizzard that had blown through not too long ago. There was a trail of tracks which she followed, with footprints matching her own, a frequently traveled path, even when the snow storm might wipe it out.

BOOOM!...

A slight jolt in the fabric of her hood indicated the turn of her head, her attention snagged by the sound of thunder that shook the ground beneath her. She turned around, the shadow of her hood blocking out her face, and in the distance she saw the source of the thundering sound. An enormous multicolored burst of flames, ascending into the sky above. From where she stood, she could see the mountainside where it originated collapse in an avalanche. Thankfully it was miles away, she was perfectly safe.

With no indication of interest in the event, she turned and went back on her way down the trail. But then she stopped, turned once again, as though something else grabbed her attention.

Without hesitation, she dropped her basket and took off running, skating across the frozen lake in the direction of the explosion.

A small trail of smoke careened up through the trees, winding through broken branches and to the sky above. Sparks flew every which way, as did electrical arcs from a damaged red and black jetpack.

"Uuuuughnnn…" the Mandalorian groaned, lying face down in the snow. He lifted his head, but set himself back down out of the immense effort it took to do so. He tried to move his arm out from underneath his body, and even that felt like an insurmountable challenge; thankfully, he did manage to complete that much. He tried moving his legs next. As far as he could tell, nothing felt broken. He curled his knees up and attempted to sit himself upright, though his body felt like it had been weighed down by an incredibly heavy weight, and he nearly fell backwards. Fortunately, he kept himself from falling down, but standing on his feet felt like it would be another challenge of its own.

As the sound of another spark went off, he reached behind him and removed his jetpack from his back. The main panel had been caved in, and there were signs of internal damage to the primary drive components for the thruster jets, as well as a considerable dent in the corner of the mortar shell battery on top.

Another groan left him. He set the jetpack down on his knees and allowed his head to fall lazily back, letting him look up at the gray and snowy sky. "I guess I'm taking the long way back to my ship."

He went and placed his pack on his back again. Before he stood up, he rolled his arm around. There was some considerable discomfort as he tried to raise his arm over his head, and he did feel the sensation of bone running afoul of where it was supposed to be—dislocated, no doubt. But he knew how to fix it.

He took a deep breath, grabbing his wrist and placing his palm over his head. Then he began to pull, dragging his arm along until his elbow was up high and his palm was at the nape of his neck; panting and taking another breath, he pulled his hand towards his opposite shoulder as gently as he could.

Pop!

"AGH! Ugh…" He allowed his arms to fall at his sides, breathing heavy heaves while he waited for the pain to subside. When he was ready, he tried raising his arm above his head again; now he could do so without the help of his other arm, though there was a throbbing ache that followed. It was tolerable though. He told himself, "I've been through worse."

With his arm restored now, all there was left was to see if he could walk. He put one leg out, pressing a hand against the ground as he pushed himself up. Once on his feet, he attempted to take a step, but he lost balance and fell against a tree with a heavy thud.

Some distance away, the stranger in the gray cloak stopped and hid behind a tree. It was there that she had caught sight of the Mandalorian. She watched as he struggled to stand up, collapsing every other step he took. She could tell he was badly hurt, more so than maybe he was willing to admit to himself. But she still didn't leave the cover of the tree to aid him, and for a moment she appeared as though she was going to turn and walk away. She stopped herself short, however, knowing she didn't come running all this way for nothing. Her hand squeezed the bark of the tree, having to fight the conflicting urges to flee and to go and help. Ultimately though, the latter won out, and she left the cover of the tree.

The Mandalorian climbed his way back upright, ready to attempt another step. But then he heard some shuffling nearby, and in a snap he lurched his arm ahead, aiming one of his flamethrowers in the direction of the sound. He saw the end of a cloak go behind another tree, to which he growled, "Who's there? Show yourself!"

Slowly, a pair of blue hands came out from behind the tree, and around the trunk came the cloaked woman, who walked steadily towards him until there was only a few paces between them. The disparity in size between the two was incredible, as he towered over her such that she had to look up at him from where she stood. Softly, she told him, "I mean you no harm."

The Mandalorian kept his weapon trained on her. She stayed within range, which was fine by him. He felt the strength to stay upright leave him though, forcing him to lean against the tree. Panting, he told her, "Take off your hood."

The stranger did as he asked, clasped her fingers along the brim of her hood and pulled it down, revealing herself to be a Pantoran, her face flowing with white markings like streams of wind. Her hair flowed down in long silver strands, and her big golden eyes locked on the black visor of his mask. She kept her hands raised at her shoulders, keeping her tone steady as she told him, "You're injured. I can help you."

"Thanks, but I've been through worse," he told her. He defiantly pushed himself off of the tree, taking a few steps forward, but as soon as he tried making a fourth step, he lost his balance again and fell at her feet. He groaned, slamming his fist to the ground.

"I'm sure you have," she told him, and knelt down before him. She looked at the state of his armor, at all the spots of soot and ash that coated the plates, leaving behind gray streaks where he landed. She also noticed a large section on his helmet that was missing some paint, and then she noticed his damaged jetpack. "Did you…fall from the sky?"

"Something like that…" he answered, indignance woven in those words. He got on his knees again, looking up at her once more as he told her, "Today didn't exactly go as I planned."

"Was the explosion part of that?" she asked.

The Mandalorian bobbed his head around, choosing not to give an exact answer. He did, however, take charge of the conversation: "My turn now. Are you alone?"

"I am the only one here," she told him. She watched as he got back up again, and she stood up in turn, telling him, "Which is why I insist you allow me to help you, if only so you can recover sooner and go back to…whatever it is you were doing."

"What I need is to get…ugh, back to…my…ship…agh!" he fell again, this time grasping the top of his helmet.

The Pantoran knelt back down, slowly setting her hands beneath the brim of his helmet. Just before she could lift it off his head, he grabbed her wrist and stopped her. More pointedly, she told him again, "You could be worse off than you're willing to admit. I can help you, but you need to trust me."

He pushed her hand away. "I just need to get on my feet and moving again. I don't need any distractions."

The Pantoran was put off, but she didn't waiver, telling him, "If you don't want me to help you with your injuries, fine, at least let me give you shelter for the night. If you have what I think you have, trying to stand and walk are the last things you should be doing."

"I…am…fine!" the Mandalorian growled, pushing himself up with all the strength he had. But just as soon as he was on his feet, his head fell back, and then his whole body collapsed backwards and hit the ground with a considerable thud.

The Pantoran sighed, sweeping a strand of hair behind her ear. To herself, she said, "I suppose today won't be going as I had planned either."

She took a long, deep breath, unclasped her cloak and rolled the fallen man atop of it. Once he was secure, she wrapped the length of her cloak under his arms and raised the strand over her shoulder. Then she began to pull, letting out a deep grunt as she moved his weight, leaving a light trail of soot in the snow.

There was an entrance to a small cave that the Pantoran dragged the Mandalorian to. She struggled to lift him up and carry him through the cracks that wove into the side of a split open hill. She found it miraculous she had been able to even bring him through with her, and she was quickly rewarded with the reprieve of being able to set him down on the floor of her home once they were all the way through.

"Ugh…" the Mandalorian went, slowly coming to.

"Good to see you're finally awake," she told him. "Please remain where you are, I'm going to get you something."

The Mandalorian had only been half-paying attention to her, checking his arms, finding his gauntlets still on his person, and his helmet remained on his head. Then he looked around wearily at his new surroundings, spotting an impressive little living space complete with a handmade cot, furnished with some fur blankets and an intricate woven rug. There had also been a chair and small table that were handmade as well. He also spotted some more modern items littered about the place, though nothing too out of the ordinary. His attention returned to the Pantoran, who had been digging through a small crate, and pulled out a syringe from deep within.

She approached him again, knelt and brought the syringe up to jab him. Just before the needle made contact, she had her wrist grabbed again. She was impressed with the strength he displayed, managing to keep her arm at bay while in the state he was in. Still, her face remained neutral as she told him, "This is just a medical serum. It will help you heal from any injuries you have."

The Mandalorian kept looking at her for a brief moment, until he reluctantly lifted his neck and allowed her to go ahead.

The Pantoran pressed the needle down into him. A low groan told her she broke the skin, and she pressed the pusher down until the capsule was empty. Once she was done, she took the needle out and set it aside, asking him, "Are you feeling any better now?"

"Mildly…" he groaned, shifting himself up to rest his back against the wall. "Where…ugh…where am I?

"This is my home," she told him. "We are a ways underground. We're safe here."

The Mandalorian shifted himself up and took another look around now that he was getting a better grasp of his faculties. Along the walls he spotted some lights, which lit the enclosure well; he heard no generator, so they must have been powered by daylight panels. There was a definite order to the space, such that everything had been settled in, and had not moved for a long time. And the Pantoran, her clothes were not that of a dweller, they were well made, and meant for light utility it seemed, featuring heavy fabric and thick threaded stitching. He commented, "Not exactly how I expected someone in a cave to live."

"How does one expect?" She raised an eyebrow, though still didn't look up at him.

"Well, clearly you have been here a while," he answered, looking back at her. "It's impressive."

"Thank you." The Pantoran bowed her head to him. Once she looked up at him again, she asked, "So, are you a Mandalorian? From Mandalore?"

"Close," he answered, his tone noticeably coarse. He kept his body stiff, telling her, "I was raised on Concordia, Mandalore's moon."

"You're a follower of The Watch then?" she asked.

The Mandalorian didn't answer immediately, and instead asked back, "What's it to you?"

"I meant no offense," she quickly answered. "I remember how much Mandalore has changed in just a few years—generations of peace upended by conflict after conflict. And then-"

"The Purge," he said, finishing her sentence. His tone was raspy under his helmet, and he looked away from her the moment afterwards.

The Pantoran knew she was treading very close to a sensitive subject. She could tell just by how he caged himself off from her, how he backed himself away against the wall, no longer looking at her. She spotted how his firsts curled up, and how his chest rose and sunk more quickly than before. She didn't have to pry to be able to tell what might have been running through his head. Softly, she told him, "I am sorry for what you have gone through. If it helps, I know a little about what that's like."

"Thanks, but I don't need someone to feel sorry for me," he told her as he turned and closed his arms over his chest.

The two remained in silence for some time. The Pantoran wrapped herself up in a fur blanket she kept nearby, but she noticed the Mandalorian, in all his metal armor, didn't even shiver.

Then, the Pantoran asked, "If you're cold, I can give you a blanket."

"I don't get cold," he told her.

She didn't know how to respond to that, but she got the sense as well that it was time to move on from the prior topic, which brought her to ask, "What were you doing when-"

"Are you trying to interrogate me or something?" The Mandalorian met her gaze again, his voice growing stern as he said, "I'm only here because you brought me. I don't need to give my life story for the sake of passing time."

She blinked, though she couldn't say she was surprised, recalling fondly how their first encounter went. Far be it for her to expect a conversation to go long now. She let a long exhale escape her as she stood up. She told him, "I'm going to find us something to eat. Please try not to move too much?"

He huffed in response, fixing his position as he grumbled, "Fine."

The Pantoran gave a nod, grabbed her cloak and made her way to the cave's exit. She stopped short of the crack in the wall, compelled to turn and look over at the Mandalorian one more time, her eyes locking onto the lifeless stare of his mask. It was chilling in its own way, not knowing if he was actually asleep or not, whether he was watching her or genuinely at rest. She could tell he was a man of combative habit too, by how he laid with his hands curled as though holding a rifle, one finger outstretched, the other hand laid palm out. She made a mental note to herself not to push him too hard. Without anything more to say, she turned and made her way out of the cave.

The sun had set on Orto Plutonia, and the looming clouds shuttered the entire night sky in a blanket of dark darkness. The breeze blew in short gusts, and they grew stronger by the minute, preluding another harsh blizzard.

The Pantoran walked down another well traveled trail, where a deep rut in the snow went on ahead. She ventured out from the small patch of trees and into an expansive mountain tundra. Short gusts of wind carried along loose patches of snow and frost, which pelted against her cloak as she walked. She kept her cloak closed around her, blocking the wind from biting her.

Behind her, in the distance, she could hear the howl of TIE fighters. She quickly took cover behind a large rock and folded her cloak over herself to blend in. She watched through the crack between her hood and garb as a pair of fighters flew by. She noted that they had been moving relatively slow. A patrol. Who could they be looking for all the way out here? Her thoughts began putting pieces together. It couldn't be her the patrol were looking for, not when an explosion rocked the mountains and she happened upon a man who came crashing from the sky just hours earlier. Yes, it made sense now; the patrol was looking for someone, and she had taken him from their sights.

Soon the patrol was now miles from her position, but she waited just a few minutes longer to make certain she was clear, then she stood and continued on her route.

The path split off into three at one point, and she chose the one on the left, which went downhill into a chasmous ravine. From there, it was a simple slide down, and she landed at the bottom without so much as a fault. There had been a bundle of spears leaning against a nearby wall, one of which she grabbed on her way down the path.

The ravine went on for quite a distance, so much so that it was nigh impossible to see where she had come in from. Overhead, the sounds of more TIE fighters were heard passing by, the howl of their thrusters muffled by the rocks, echoing like a beastly roar. The Pantoran didn't feel the need to take cover, knowing she was too deep below the surface to be seen. However, it had only been half an hour since the first patrol flew by, which told her she needed to be cautious on her way back to her stead if another had come so soon.

After a long trek, she approached another fork, two paths which also featured familiar footsteps. Again, she went down the one on the left, which proceeded further down, cutting deep into the mountainous ridge.

Soon she found herself walking through shadows made by the rocks above, where it became darker and darker within the ravine as she walked. The howling winds above grew quiet with each passing step she made as she descended further from the surface. The only thing that could be heard now was her own breath, and the steady hum of the cavern itself.

Then she passed it, the threshold between what little light there was, and the shadowy darkness ahead.

She stopped just past the line, dropped her hood and looked out into the void of black darkness in front of her. Slowly, silently, she dropped to her knees and set her spear in her lap. With her head held high, she closed her eyes, and she waited.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes into hours. The threshold of shadow proceeded further and further away from her as time went on, enshrouding her evermore in an abyssal darkness. And yet still, she remained where she was, never opening her eyes, nor letting her form falter, even as the bitter cold crept over her skin.

Her mind quieted, dispelling all thought and emotion, focusing only on her breathing, slowing her breath until even her heart came to a crawl. Slowly, she felt the sensations of hot and cold melt away, as well as the weight of her knees against the stone. Even the seismic hum of the cave disappeared, leaving only the barely intelligible sound of her own beating heart to remain. At that very moment, she felt as though she had left her own body, and disappeared into the void. All sense of time vanished. All things inside the cave became totally, and completely, still; a single, individual moment, petrified like stone. Even the tiny specks of dust floating around seemed to stop, sitting idly in the air.

"Grrrrrrrrrr…"

She finally opened her eyes again. She could see the inside of the cave better now, and before her she saw what had been the source of the growling. A Narglatch.

"ROAR! Rrrrr…" the beast went, its front legs bent and head down, ready to pounce on some seemingly easy prey.

The Pantoran kept her calm, looking back at the beast with such utter cold neutrality it almost seemed unnatural. She could tell the Narglatch before her was a young one, it was smaller than others, and far more temperamental, like all cubs halfway from adults were. Even as it approached, she did not move a single muscle. Her grip on the shaft of her spear remained secure. Her breath remained steady. Her nerves remained strong.

The Narglatch shifted on its hindlegs, baring its teeth, letting go another, threatening growl.

Then, the beast leapt forward.

In a snap movement, the Pantoran lurched up, thrust her spear ahead and ran it clean through the Narglatch's chest. The young beast let out a painful whimper, its body crumpling the instant her weapon pierced its heart. She moved with the momentum of its weight, twisting around until it landed in the light side of the shadow, cradling its head gently while its breath left its body.

She let out a steady exhale herself, her breath leaving in a thick cloud of frozen mist. With a single, smooth jerk, she removed the spear from the beast's chest and stood up, looking back into the darkness of the cavern.

There, she spotted faint silhouettes creeping out from behind rocks, down the walls, encroaching where she stood, the dull sparkle of their eyes glinting in the darkness. A Narglatch pack. They approached the Pantoran slowly, as though ready to pounce at any moment. They growled and hissed at her, their beastly sounds echoing off the walls of the cave like a single great monster.

But the Pantoran did not back away. Not even the slightest hint of fear was present on her face as she looked back at the fearsome beasts. She did not raise her spear, and her breath remained calm and steady.

The standoff lasted all of a minute, before the pack let out a shrill of restrained growls and returned to where they came from, disappearing back into the dark confines of the cave. Then, all was silent once again.

Finally, the Pantoran let out a long, warm breath, producing a cloud of frozen mist in front of her. Now that she had gotten what she came for, she took up her kill in her arms and made her way out of the cave.

Darkness had crept over the landscape by the time the Pantoran made it back to the treeline. She was glad she had the beast's fur pressing over her shoulders, the winds were blistering at night. One step at a time, she went, with the dead Narglatch slung across her shoulders, her face showing no sign of fatigue, having done this task to survive countless times. She couldn't wait to finally return, her stomach was growling. She was sure her guest was getting hungry as well, though part of her was uncertain if he would actually still be there.

As she went through a small clearing, she stopped dead in her tracks. Just over the treeline, she spotted the most peculiar shape. She set down the Narglatch and rushed over to a nearby tree and climbed with impressive dexterity; she reached the top in hardly no time, not even winded by the end of the climb. From her new vantage point though, she got a clearer view of what she had seen.

There, hovering over the mountainside where the scene of yesterday's explosion occurred, an Imperial Star Destroyer flew, surrounded by squads of small crew carriers and dozens of TIE fighters flying around the warship's airspace. Painted on the belly of the ship's hull, the Pantoran spotted a distinct yellow bird shape, which was eerily identical to the crest upon the Mandalorian's helmet.

It made no sense to her. Why did both that Star Destroyer and the Mandalorian's helmet have the same symbol? He looked like no Imperial she had ever seen or heard of, and, thinking back on when she found him, she thought the encounter they had would be a lot different. And the things he told her, as little as it was, they couldn't have been lies.

Without any real conclusion to be made, she thought it was best to return and get the story straight. She climbed down the tree, and when she touched ground she picked up the Narglatch and marched as quickly as she could.

The Mandalorian had gotten himself situated where he could sit cross legged, holding his jetpack over his lap while he looked it over and assessed the extent of the damage. He pried the main panel off and tossed it aside, looking into the components to see if anything was knocked out of place. It looked like the main driving components were intact. But he had to be sure though, and he placed the pack down in front of him and brought his gauntlet controls up; after pressing a couple buttons, the jetpack whirled to life, and two jets shot down. Slowly he gave the device more thrust, and higher and higher the pack went.

Poof! As a puff of smoke and burst of sparks shot out from inside, the pack came crashing back down. The Mandalorian had only barely caught it, but it still rolled out of his hand and fell to the floor.

"Great…" He groaned and jammed his elbow against the wall, growling as he laid his head back. Then he heard a shuffling from the cave's entrance. His first instinct was to turn on his flamethrowers and take aim, but he stopped short when he saw it was just the Pantoran back from her hunt, with fresh kill upon her back. His gaze remained on the fallen beast as she set it down. The sound of genuine surprise came through as he spoke, "A Narglatch? Those beasts are not easy to kill. How did you manage to bring this one down?"

The Pantoran turned, and after a brief pause, she told him, "It lunged, and I ran a spear through its heart. It was quick, merciful."

"Merciful?" The Mandalorian chuckled. "Interesting choice of words—you don't strike me as the type to be concerned about such things."

"Do I need to be something special to be able to show it?" she asked.

"Maybe not," he answered, and added further, "In my Creed, to hunt and to fight are one in the same; often prey prove themselves capable of being predators themselves, and in a fight to the death, we're encouraged to end those fights as quickly as possible, be it an opponent in battle…or a wild beast."

"Coming from a man clearly used to violence, I can't say I'm surprised by that," she told him.

He tilted his head, one might assume he had been smirking, as he told her, "Violence will be met with violence, but only one will survive. That's just a fact of life. It sounds like that Narglatch attacked you, and you proved yourself the greater predator. Besides, you were the one out on the hunt to begin with. Now you get to savor the spoils of victory."

"Just because I go out to hunt in order to eat doesn't mean I have to enjoy it," she snapped. Then she took a quick breath and added, "I don't like it, but I understand the need to do things that otherwise I wouldn't agree to. Such compromises are simply the difference between even life and death."

"Spoken like a true survivor." He gave her a nod and allowed it to end there. He resigned himself to watch as she grabbed a knife nearby and began the process of separating skin from flesh, and how she did not even flinch at the sight of blood pouring out where she sat. He raised his chin, like a master would, observing the work of an apprentice, approving of her handiwork removing half of the beast's pelt in a matter of seconds, and moving onto the next side without wasting a single moment. There was an eerie grace to her bladework, as she wicked the blade from one point to another, making smooth cuts in single long strokes, never tarnishing either the skin or the meat underneath. The time and practice showed themselves, a well practiced butcher in the guise of a woman who herself was so out of place, and yet fit this element perfectly. It was no more than two minutes before she had gotten to removing the skin on the beast's belly. When she finished removing the pelt from the Narglatch, she hung the fur on a nearby rack, then she went back to the carcass and started cutting up pieces of meat for herself and her guest. The smell quickly began to fill the room, the Mandalorian had his helmet's filters and airtight suit to help him ignore it, but the Pantoran continued working, seemingly completely unbothered by the odor of freshly cut up flesh. Once she had a couple of good sized chunks of meat to cook with, the Pantoran went and collected wood and sticks for a fire, piled them up and grabbed a flint to finally start it; she jammed the piece of rock a handful of times, creating decent sparks, but none of them caught the bundle of sticks alight. Still, she kept on trying.

The Mandalorian watched as she struggled to light the fire. He figured if she was able to survive on her own for as long as he thought she had been, starting a fire should have been easy. But soon enough the clicking sound started to get on his nerves. He decided to lean forward and offer her some help, holding his wrist out as he told her, "Why don't I make this easier?"

The Pantoran sighed and backed off, and gestured for him to proceed. She watched as he curled his thumb forward; a slight whistling sound came from his nozzles, and out came the white hot jets of flames. He slowly curled his thumb back again, and the jets shrunk into smaller cones with bright blue tips, which he touched against the wood. She sat stunned as the tinder caught fire almost instantly, roaring into a bright blaze in just a few seconds. Once the Mandalorian flicked his thumb back and cut off the flames, she told him, "Thank you."

"No problem." He leaned back and waited while she added more substantial pieces to the pile. The fire grew larger until it was enough to cook the meat she had prepared. He leaned forward again as she offered him one, but appeared puzzled when she pulled her arm back; he saw the look on her face, a look of distrust. He asked her, "Is something wrong?"

She looked up and locked eyes with his visor, and told him, "I saw a star destroyer on my way back here, TIE fighters are patrolling the area, and it just so happens your helmet and the star destroyer share that same bird crest. So be honest with me—are you an Imperial spy, agent or otherwise?"

The Mandalorian burst onto his feet, but he stumbled and fell back against the wall. He had flicked his wrist on his way up, and his flamethrowers fired up, aimed right for her as he growled out, "I am no Imperial scum!" He flicked his wrist again and off his jets went. He leaned down and told her, "I'm here because the man who leads those Imperials is the reason my tribe is dead. I came to this system so I could return the favor." He pointed at the crest on his helmet, adding in a fiery whisper, "This is my tribe's sigil, and he stole it after the Purge. By the honor of my Creed, I have to defeat Kreel and allow my tribe to finally rest in peace."

A long pause followed. The air in the room was now acrid with the stench of burnt fuel that lingered and collesed at the ceiling in an opaque haze. There were even beads of sweat rolling down the Pantoran's face, not of fear, but just from the pure roaring heat that lasted all of a few seconds. Once the air between them began to cool again, the Pantoran gently raised her palms to him, telling him calmly, "I believe you."

The Mandalorian continued to glare at her, the only semblance of his rage present were the slow, warm breaths coming through his helmet, which came out further, and further apart as the moment passed. He sat down again, his fists loosening ever so slightly, looking away from her as though in thought. Once he looked back at her, he said, "You must have your own history with the Imperials."

She blinked, but kept the rest of her face still, only telling him, "Some bad memories, yes."

"Does it have to do with what you said earlier?" he asked. "About what happened to my people?"

Her brow furrowed, but it was such a small and slow motion she hoped he didn't catch it. Still, she nodded and answered, "Yes."

The Mandalorian let a brief moment pass, then he said, "You don't strike me as a Rebel. Besides, the Empire is gone; you could easily send a distress call and the Republic can send its fleet to deal with the Imperial cell here."

The Pantoran shook her head. "The Republic won't send an entire fleet to bring down a single Imperial, let alone save a single life. Besides, I choose to remain here. My seclusion is my choice. The last thing I want is for a squad of Imperial holdouts to come bearing down on me. I have lost enough already, I don't want anymore people's lives on my conscience too."

The Mandalorian bobbed his head lightly, which then became a nod as he told her, "Fair enough."

The Pantoran nodded in response, finally offering him a skewer to cook over the fire.

They remained silent for a good while as the meat cooked. When it had cooked all the way through they began to eat.

The Pantoran watched as the Mandalorian reached for his helmet—a short beep preceded a sharp whistling sound, and a light on his chest piece went from blue to red—when he lifted the brim, she swore she could see what looked like a burn scar along his jaw. She dared not ask about it, more so because she figured she already knew how it happened. She quit her onlooking before long and brought her skewer to eat as well.

The two finished off their meals around the same time, and the Mandalorian placed his helmet back down onto its seal—with another beep and an airtight whistle, the light on his chest piece flashed from red to blue.

After a short while, a strong wind blew outside, and the breeze crept its way into the cave. The Pantoran began to shiver, even as the fire still burnt strong, and she went to grab a blanket from the nearby rack. She had grabbed an extra one too and offered it to the Mandalorian.

But he raised his hand to her, shook his head and said, "Thanks, but I have no need."

She wanted to insist, but she knew well enough now that no meant no with him. She took the blanket back and hung it on the rack, then she went and sat in her spot across from him at the fire. She kept her sight on the Mandalorian for a good while, watching how he looked over to the cave's exit every now and then, anxiously it seemed, as his fingers twitched like he were pulling a trigger. After a long enough time, she asked, "So…how long have you been tracking this Imperial cell?"

The Mandalorian looked back at her. His tone was coarse as he told her, "Just the man leading them. Commander Kreel."

"You know him by name?" She raised a brow at him.

The Mandalorian gave a slow nod. "We fought each other once before, during the Purge. Before that, he was charged with the Imperial operations on Concordia. He was what you'd call the Empire's watchdog. There wasn't a single one in my tribe who didn't know who he was."

"So…what happened, exactly?"

The Mandalorian hesitated to answer, but as he looked and met her eye, he could see the inviting look she had been giving him, one that did not give a sense of judgment or mere passive listening, but of genuine interest. It was a strange thing, but it was enough for him to choose to continue:

"We were going to drive the Imperials out of the system for good. The civil war gave us hope, and we were going to strike once the forces on Mandalore regrouped. But before we could launch the attack, the Empire struck first—Moff Gideon sent bombers down to destroy the planet's surface, and he sent Kreel down with his armies to massacre the rest of us on Concordia, with everything his forces were allowed to bring. I was with my brothers in the air, leading an airstrike run while the rest of our tribe engaged the troops on the ground. But Kreel's men used flamethrowers to bring us down…" he paused, bringing his hands up to his shoulders, gripping his arms while a long hiss escaped him. "The flames went under our armor, searing our bodysuits, forcing us down while we were burning to our deaths. That pain is not something you forget, it makes everything else afterwards feel like nothing."

The Pantoran heard the pain in his voice. She wore on her face an expression of inextricable empathy, where her lips narrowed and eyes glossed.

The Mandalorian settled his head in his palm, running his thumb over the golden crest on his helmet. "I lost friends, family, brothers, and sisters that night. That kind of pain…it doesn't go away."

"I'm so sorry…" the Pantoran finally went, seemingly halfway to tears. "But I understand now. Your drive. You want revenge."

"Not just revenge," he told her, clenching his fists. "When the dust settled, and I recovered from my wounds, I made a death pact with the dead of my tribe, a vow that I will hunt down Kreel to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. I will let no one, and no thing, not even the threat of my own death, stop me. I will either finish my vow, or I will die fighting."

"That sounds like-" she stopped herself as she met his gaze. For a moment she swore she could feel his own body heat from where she sat, meters away from him; a ferocious aura of violence and absolution that needed no affirmation of a plain face look at him without his helmet, she could tell just by looking at him as he was that he was daring her to finish what she was going to say. She told him, "I know where that kind of anger leads, and it's nowhere good."

"Good?" The Mandalorian pressed an arm against the wall, groaning as he stood himself up, stumbling away and walking towards her, slowly stepping with heavy footsteps across the ground as he told her, "Good. Bad. Irrelevant. I'm not here to play the hero, or fight for something I have no stake in. My only goal is to find Kreel and make sure he is put in the grave. Until I know he is dead, I will keep fighting for as long as I have to."

The Pantoran looked up at him, speechless as he stood over her, looking down like a colossus on an insignificant ant. She chose to remain as she was, on her knees and looking up at him, not daring to challenge what she knew was a show of indomitable will, but also desperate bravado. She only had it in her mind to ask, "And what will you do after you're done?"

The Mandalorian tilted his head, silent for a moment as though processing something. Perhaps he had been genuinely stunned to be asked such a question, or maybe he was annoyed. Whichever of the two it was, what came after was a heavy huff, turning and stepping away from her. Once he allowed the air to cool down again, he turned his head, keeping his back to her as he asked, "That star destroyer was docked at the railway?"

The Pantoran only nodded.

A long drawn hiss of a sigh left him, and his fists clenched again as he turned back to face the wall. Slowly, almost mechanically, he growled, "There's a chance Kreel is still alive…I need to find out for certain. I'll finish him off if he survived that blast. Otherwise I'll have come all this way for nothing."

The Pantoran got up as he turned to walk out. She stopped in front of him and put her arms out between them as she said, "If this is how you are going to go on, you will find yourself the one who will be buried. Don't let your anger lead you to a war you might not win."

But the Mandalorian wasn't listening, he pressed on until her hands were pressed firmly against his chest. He tried to shove past her, but she pushed back with surprising force. He growled, and with a loud whistling hiss, his flame jets lit up, and he pointed them right at her.

But the Pantoran remained steadfast. She raised her chin while the blazing heat of his nozzles brushed over her face, and the acrid stench of burning fuel scorched her nostrils. Her tone was unchanged as she told him, "You know I am right. You know if you go on as you are now, you will fail. Is that what your tribe would want? Is that really how you want to go? Where is the honor in taking a fight you know you can't win?"

He said nothing to her, only kept his gaze locked while three white daggers of fire jutted out over his wrist. His breath heaved in and out slowly, heavily, like a feral beast ready to attack. The Mandalorian knelt his head down, silently processing what she said while emanating an excruciating heat from himself. The glimmer of white fire reflecting off his visor appeared as though a man were crying for help, but his stance remained almost totally unchanged, ready to act if the decision was made. His breath continued to escalate. He clenched his fist, and his arm began to shake, disrupting the otherwise perfect cones of flames protruding from his wrist.

"AAAAAGH!" The Mandalorian turned and struck the wall; his jets fired off as his knuckles hit the rock, and a wild blaze of white and blue flames erupted on impact. Trials of scorch marks were left behind, surrounding a new crater where his fist had struck, where some glistening traces of molten rock glowed.

The Pantoran staggered back. She watched him collapse to his knees, his fingers curl and twitch, his head rock slowly. It appeared as though he'd been writhing, and his breath came out more ferociously, and from behind his mask, it sounded like a bellows blowing against a roaring flame.

An extended period of time went before it occurred to the Pantoran that he might have forgotten she was there. She approached him again and knelt down, her arm outstretched and palm facing his shoulder. There was a strong part of her telling her not to touch him, to leave him be, and another that was equally strong which wanted to comfort him, that came out in the form of a hesitant motion in her wrist. Ultimately, like a feather landing on stone, her palm pressed over the cold Beskar plate on his shoulder.

In just a short span of time, he had quieted down, his heaving turned to slower breaths, and his body became ever more still. The Pantoran kept her hand on his shoulder, her emotionless face looking down on him with cool golden eyes, her own breath beginning to match his in an even rhythm.

As the Mandalorian let out one more deep breath, he raised his head and looked at her hand on him; she removed herself in response. He said nothing, and neither did she. A cold, dead silence was all that existed at the moment.

The Pantoran had a strange feeling during their silent pause, where she had been looking at the Mandalorian, and unsure whether he was looking back at her with anger, confusion, disdain, or all of the three behind his mask; he did not make any motion, or even a sound, to indicate any such feeling either. There was just the blank, statue-like gaze of his visor looking up at her. Nevertheless, she left his side and went back to her spot across from the fire.

He looked at his hands, feeling a sense of unease, a stillness unlike anything he had ever felt before. Even as his hand throbbed, there seemed to be some quality of calm that made the pain negligible. It was a strange experience, as though the raging storm of his thoughts were there one moment, and then the next a calm wind came through and blew them away. There was not a single thing he could think of that indicated how or why, apart from that something simply did.

When it felt like the air had cleared, the Pantoran let go a soft breath as she told him, "I think it's time we both got some rest. If you want, I can help you be on your way in the morning."

The Mandalorian kept on his silent stare at her, as though the desire to say something was there, but he opted to remain quiet. He pressed himself against the wall, a knee bent and a wrist hung over it.

The Pantoran watched him lower his head slightly. She could see the dancing sprites of flames dancing in the reflection of his visor. He might have been simply staring into the fire now, letting himself doze off into sleep. Countless minutes went by as she looked at him, blinking, wondering if he was still awake and looking back at her—how could she know?—but his mask was all she could see of him.

Then curiosity got the better of her. Slowly, like a small cat, she crept along on her knees towards him without a single scratch across the ground. She kept her breath shallow, imperceptibly silent, as she placed herself within inches of his mask. She turned her ear to him then, and she could hear his breath coming through the filters, leaving and returning in slow, quiet heaves. Just to be certain, she put her hand up in front of his visor and waved slowly. But neither time did the man move to acknowledge her actions.

He must be asleep then…her brow rose with the realization, and so she opted not to disturb him anymore than she was already risking doing. Just as silently as she came, she stood up and crept across the enclosure to her cot. Her gaze was on the Mandalorian again as she too began to doze off, watching him for several minutes more until her eyelids fell shut.

But just after she went to sleep, the Mandalorian turned his head to her. Whatever expression he had been making could not be seen otherwise, but he did let go a soft huff before he let his head fall back down.

A squadron of TIE fighters flew past the bridge of the star destroyer, their engines howling like great airborne beasts as they turned and made another run out ahead.

An Imperial officer stood in the middle of the observation deck, his arms folded behind his back, his body tall and stiff like a statue while he overlooked the bridge crew at their posts, clicking away at their terminals, passing down a series of commands until new orders were received.

The sound of boots clicked across the floor. Another officer strode down the upper walkway to the one overlooking the blast site. He appeared very tired, and there were signs of gray rings under his eyes. He stopped just a few paces away, his voice clear and quick as he said, "There is still no sign of the attacker, sir. Another squad has been dispatched to triple the search."

"That will have to be all that can be done now." The commanding officer turned to face him, he too appeared to be quite tired, but he had a look of seeming relief. "The Lieutenants have taken charge and have given the order to return to base. Send word to all units to report back."

The officer appeared shocked, and he asked, "What of the rail system? We are cut off from the distribution facility…we can't just-"

"That is out of our hands," the commanding officer told him firmly.

Defeated, the officer took a breath, but he had one last question on his mind: "What of the commander?"

The commanding officer did not answer. But whether the look he had been giving him was meant to be a definitive answer in of itself or not did not seem up for debate.

Left with no other words to give, the officer gave a faint nod and left the bridge.

The Mandalorian had been rocking against the wall, swaying his head back and forth like a pendulum, muttering incoherent words endlessly. The sounds of blaster fire, jetpack thrusters, walker legs crashing down, men shouting, fighters flying overhead all filled his ears, echoing off the walls inside his helmet.

Gasp! The Mandalroian pushed himself off the wall, his arms raised in front of his face as though blocking something coming at him. He breathed erratically, trembling as he looked along his arms. His neck felt deathly stiff. Even in the darkness of the enclosure, he had been aware of the haze in his vision. He pressed his hands against his chestplate, and under his bodysuit he felt he had been sweating too, and that his body ran with an uncomfortable mix of hot and cold. This all began to subside as he regained control of his breath, and his hands curled slowly into fists as his heaves went from short bursts to long drawn ins and outs. With one final breath, he allowed his hands to open again.

He took another look around, relieved to find he was still just in the cave. The light fixtures along the walls were dim, allowing him to see inside, but dark enough for one to sleep. He spotted the Pantoran on the far side of the room, still sound asleep in her cot. In front of him, he could see there was still the slightest ember burning in the pile of ashes where the fire had been, and the husk of the Narglatch sat beyond that.

He put a hand over the dome of his helmet and let out a sigh. He was wide awake now and going back to sleep was out of the question. At least he did not wake the Pantoran; she remained peacefully asleep in her bed.

Without much else to do, he brought his jetpack in front of him again. He reached up and turned on a flashlight upon his helmet. One look and he could see a few of the components that needed fixing.

He turned and looked over to the crate the Pantoran had dug through earlier, then he got up and crept his way to it. Slow and steady, he went, careful not to make a sound, but his armor still made his lightest step heavy. He stopped and looked, the Pantoran was still fast asleep; he carried on.

Then he reached the crate, opened the lid and proceeded to dig through it, hoping to find some spare parts he could use.

There was a lot of old junk in the crate: old tech and some armor seemingly from the Clone Wars—both odd things for a survivalist to be keeping, he thought as he picked up a faded gauntlet and looked it over. He set the armor aside and continued digging, careful not to make too much noise. He found a vibro-knife, low on charge but still usable, which he pocketed away, but he found nothing else he could use to repair his jetpack.

Then, as he moved aside a tattered piece of brown cloth, he spotted a small box. It was wooden, and had a strange, yet familiar symbol atop its lid, though he could not quite pinpoint where he had seen it—he noted it had the odd guise of a bird, not quite like the signet on his helmet, but still oddly ornamental, like a medal. He brought the small container on top of the pile of things he had rifled through, then he undid the clasp and opened it.

He froze, possibly blinking in disbelief as he laid eyes on the relic inside the box.

He reached in, and took out a very ornate hilt. It was made from a silvery alloy with a blue sheen to it, and at the pommel was a large moonstone.

The Mandalorian snapped a glance at the Pantoran, then back to the hilt. He almost couldn't believe what he had been holding in his hands, and was surprised by the weight of it. Even still, the elegance of the spiraled metal leading up to what he guessed was the emitter had a celestial quality that made it seem less like the weapons he had heard stories about so many years ago, old legends of a dead religion. Not so dead after all?

He had to be certain, and so he snuck out of the cave, creeping through the cracks until he was outside again. It was a light flurry out, with snow coming down in gusts. Even in his suit, he could feel the biting chill coming over him. He was not worried about the cold though, he'd be back inside before too long.

He outstretched his arms and held the hilt out in front of him. Even then it felt like he'd been brandishing a club. Then slowly, he reached his thumb out, and clicked a button on the side.

An energetic hiss, a bright blue beam of light shot out.

He staggered back and nearly lost his grip on the handle. Once he had gotten his bearings, he held his arm out and swept the blade aside. He listened in awe at the sound of snowflakes turning to vapor as they hit the light, and the steady humm the blade made.

But then the blade turned off on its own, and a sudden jolt took him by surprise as the hilt began to move against his grasp. He had been forced around until the hilt slipped out from his hand, flying into the grasp of the Pantoran, who looked back at him with an indifferent, yet stern look in her eye.

With a voice as cold as the icy air itself, she asked, "Need I tell you? Or did you already figure it out?"