Through the wall of rubble, the sound of the approaching siege drill came closer and closer. Din had seen these drills in action before—they could precisely carve out a tunnel for soldiers to attack without the risks of explosives.

"Engineer," he said. Nothing came though. He tried again. "Mayfeld!" But all he heard was a crackling sound. The Imps had some kind of comms dampener, plus the rock walls of the river tunnel didn't help. They were cut off here at the dock. What was happening up at the hangar? Could Mayfeld, Cara, and the others use the floor?

He also wondered what was happening at the Arena. Clearly the Imps had control of it, and had discovered the entrance to the underground river. And now all he could do was wait.

Din felt exhaustion creeping over him, his shoulder throbbing. He sternly told himself to focus, but his mind wandered, memories coming unbidden.

Including the last conversation he had with the Armorer.

###

It was the day Din prepared to leave Mandalore. Frankly, he had wanted to take Grogu and leave immediately after the ceremony, but Bo-Katan prevailed on him to stay two more days. Grogu seemed to enjoy spending time with the other children and there was plenty of work for Din. It took his mind off his weirdly conflicted thoughts and emotions.

He was a father now. A real father with a real family. Grogu was not his "ward" but his son in name as well as heart. Joy and pride didn't even begin to describe the constant warmth in his chest when he thought about it.

Yet when he thought about Mandalore itself, he felt strangely…empty. Oh, to be sure, there was a comfort with being around his Covert and around friends, to be sure. There was a comfort in being around others like him. But after everything he had gone through to be redeemed and reclaim Mandalore, it seemed like anticlimax. It wasn't the bleak ruin of the place—Din had seen people thrive on worse planets. And he felt yearning towards the stars and solitude. Well, it wouldn't really be solitude, but wasn't Grogu part of him now?

As he worked unloading and loading, building and scavenging, Din also thought back to his early days as a Foundling. And some questions at the back of his mind began to surface.

He sought audience with the Armorer, and despite her ceaseless toil at the Forge she beckoned him to a quiet corner where they could sit facing each other. Grogu was off spending time with Ragnar and the other youngsters—Din knew that could Grogu handle himself if the play got too rough. But the Armorer was impassive even by the standards of Mandalorians. And Din was not really sure what he wanted to ask her.

"You and your apprentice have not yet left Mandalore," said the Armorer.

"Lady Kryze asked for my help for two more days. I am glad to do so."

"But you are eager to leave."

"Yes."

"Even if you had no apprentice, you would not choose to remain here, on the homeworld which we would not have reclaimed without your bravery and persistence."

Her perception was deadly accurate, as always. "Yes," Din answered.

"Ever you have been restless. Ever you have sought the next goal, the next quarry, the next answer, never satisfied, never at rest, never at peace."

Din was quiet.

"You have always been so. It is why you provided so well for our people."

"And I will continue to so with Grogu at my side."

"I know. This is the Way." Din felt the full weight of her gaze. "The work here is important, but you are shaped for a different purpose."

"Yes."

"You and Din Grogu will be home to one another as you travel the galaxy. Yet always you will know that your people are here."

And Din thought she was exactly right, that wherever they were together it was home.

But there was something else.

"I must ask one question," he said.

"I will attempt an answer." Her tone was very dry.

"Ever I have served our people. Ever have I risked my life to follow the Creed, to provide for our Covert, to seek redemption, to reclaim our planet."

"That is so."

"Ever since I was a Foundling I have…I have striven to belong. Yet I was never formally adopted, as Ragnar Visla was, or many others."

She nodded. "That is so."

"Now that I am a parent, I ask myself whether these things are joined together." His chest expanded as he took a deep breath. "And yet, I must understand. I belong, and yet I have always felt apart. Was I…was I unworthy of adoption?" His voice wavered ever so slightly.

"You are brother and comrade to all Mandalorians. We have stood beside you in all things, as we did on Nevarro when you claimed your son from the Enemy. And we followed your lead back here to Mandalore. This is the way."

"This is the way. I am proud to have founded my own clan. But that does not answer my question."

The Armorer was silent. After many long moments she spoke again, and her voice was low. "In this you were failed, Din Djarin. You were not unworthy. You were failed by the adults charged with your care."

Din shook his head. That made no sense. "They did not fail me. My foster parents and their clans cared for me. My teacher cared for me." Names and voices came back to him. His first teacher, Fenn Shysa. Jado Kaull, who had taken him up into the sky after his family was slaughtered. Cassia Mendes and Clan Varactyl, who had cared for him after his rescue. All long dead. "I was taught well."

"That is so. Yet you were failed." Another long pause. Din waited patiently. "Ever since you were a Foundling, you had armor around your heart and mind stronger than beskar. That is not uncommon for Foundlings, who often come to us after experiencing great terror and grief. But I suspect it was even stronger for you. The adults who cared for you should have been able to see beyond this armor, to reach the vulnerable individual inside. They should have been able to provide you with something more, something you needed more than food, shelter, and training."

"What is that?" whispered Din.

"You know very well what it is, because it is what you now provide your son." She sighed. "The adults entrusted with your care in the Fighting Corps were well-meaning. But in those days we had many cares and many battles. There was much death and disruption and loss. And because of this, it seems to me it was easy to overlook one quiet Foundling, who seemed to need so little, who seemed quiet and self-sufficient, gladly taking on any burden given."

Din didn't know if that quite answered him. But he pressed on. "I have one more question." She tilted her head. "The Creed. We are forbidden to remove our helmets in the presence of other living things."

"This is the way."

"This is the way. Yet it is not clear to me whether this is binding between parent and child. As I was never formally adopted, I do not know. But now for the sake of my son I must understand my path forward."

"This has been a subject of great doctrinal dispute," she said. "Matters within families and clans are considered private and yet the words of the Creed are quite clear."

"And I know now there are Mandalorians who follow separate paths." He did not ask, why have I not understood so much of our own history until now? Because he knew that might be pushing too far. Because he might not like the answer.

"Indeed." Did she sigh as well? "Din Djarin, my duty is to the Creed and to our people. In this time of great change I can counsel you but I cannot say you must do this thing or that thing as you raise your son, because he is a unique individual. As are you. I know only this: That you will be guided by the Creed but also by your own wisdom."

This was another unsatisfactory answer, because Din felt he had quite a small reservoir of wisdom. But this was not unexpected. Her words were always clear, but more often than not it was up to the listener to decide what to do with them. They nodded to each other gravely.

And then she rose to return to the Forge, and he to begin the next part of his life.

###

With a thunderous rumble, the wall began to fall. Broken tile, stone, and rusted metal fell in a landslide of rubble. The tip of a shining drill-head poked through. It had the unmistakable shine of beskar.

How dare the Imps use this sacred material in their filthy weapons. Outrage and disgust filled every fiber of Din's being, and his focus returned. "That drill tip is beskar," he said through clenched teeth.

"Noooooooo," said Grogu indignantly.

"Fucking Imps," said Forty-Seven, clearly sharing Din's disgust despite being a clone, and Din respected him more for it.

Din pulled out one of his last grav charges in his free hand. It wouldn't hurt the beskar tip, but it might damage the rest of the device, or take out the Imp soldiers coming in behind it. But if he used it too soon, it might actually help the Imps by clearing away more rubble.

Din looked at the ferry. Its flight was now flashing green. "F5-62," he said, giving it one more try.

"The river is being cleared!" it said excitedly.

Oh no. "F5-62, the people using that drill are NOT authorized. They intend to harm your passengers."

"They are not authorized?" said the ferry droid, disappointed.

More of the drill emerged. As Din suspected, only its tip was beskar. "No, they are not! Help us." It took a lot of self-control not to add, you pile of junk. But the droid could probably hear his frustration.

"I think you are all unauthorized," said the ferry sulkily.

More of the gleaming drill emerged. "Get ready," Din told Grogu and the others, preparing to throw the grav charge like a grenade.

"No," said Grogu. He held out his hand.

"Buddy, I don't think you can…"

The drill stopped. Grogu curled his fingers into a tiny fist.

Then the drill groaned and whined like a sick animal, but no longer moved forward. Tendrils of smoke seeped out from the rubble. And Din thought about how Grogu had defeated the Dark Trooper back in Varro's office. He had not crushed it through brute force, as they had seen Skywalker do, but by searching inside the machine and destroying some small but critical piece—a circuit, a screw, a wire. Din had seen Grogu unscrew small fasteners and perform other delicate work with his powers. This was the next logical step.

"It stopped," said Forty-Nine.

"Yes," said Din. Grogu sighed deeply and seemed to curl up against Din. He had bought them time, but he was clearly worn out.

"Now what?"

"Now they're gonna blast their way through," Din said. "Fall back into a better defensive position." He led them back behind a stack of twisted metal close to one of the destroyed turbines.

Amplified through his helmet he could hear a tiny but menacing beep, beep, beep.

Din fervently hoped the Imps wouldn't bring down the whole tunnel on their heads in their eagerness to break through. They wanted to take this place mostly undamaged, and they probably had orders to take Din and Grogu alive if possible. But Imps always did love destroying the village in order to save it, and the Empire thought nothing of throwing away the lives of its own troops. "F5-62, they're coming!" No answer.

Two massive explosions rocked the tunnel, one after another. Pebbles and dust rained down around them but the structure had clearly held. Din looked up over the girder and saw two gaps blasted through the rubble barrier, certainly large enough for humans.

A small, dull metal ball rolled through one.

Flash bomb, Din thought, but there was no time to shout or react. Blinding white light illuminated the tunnel. The clones winced and closed their eyes. Not even the visor of Din's helmet could compensate for the intense blast of light. Spots marred his eyesight. They were temporarily blinded, helpless against the Imps sure to flood through the tunnel. By the time their eyesight recovered, it would be too late…

A crackling, hissing sound surrounded them and a scream came from the direction of the barrier.

"Unauthorized personnel neutralized," announced F5-62.

Din exhaled in relief. "Thank you."

"I have decided I like you," said the droid. "But I do detect many more intruders."

"You have quite a way with that droid," said Forty-Nine drily.

"Perhaps we need to get them a room when this is over," said one of the other clones.

Din did not dignify this with a response. More Imps emerged from the gaps, or tried to, but were repelled by the droid's shock bolts. Then there was ominous silence. The Imps were regrouping—what else did they bring with them?

The answer came soon.

The whining sound of an ion pulse echoed through the tunnel. The blast directly hit the ferry, and blue sparks crackled over its controls. It wailed disturbingly like a woman. The amber light at its control panel dimmed and grew dark. Then the Imps resumed their assault.

Din and the others were in a good defensive position, and they picked off the Imps one by one as they crawled through the gaps. But they would get tired or exhaust their weapons at some point, and the Imps would keep pouring through. Their friends at the top had their hands full defending against the Imps at the hangar. And no sign of more New Republic help.

We did our best, thought Din, and this would be a noble death except for his son. Grogu was actually sleeping now, and Din was grateful, glad he wasn't going to see whatever was coming next.

Fear not, Din Djarin.

The great voice from the depths seemed now to rise up out of Din's own soul.

The day will come when you fall. The day will come when your eyes shut and your heart stops. Yet grieve not for your son, for you will never cease to be his father. Together in the great oversoul you will be reunited and remain father and son forever.

That day will come.

But that day is not today.

White-armored troopers kept coming and coming, undaunted by the growing pile of their comrades. Then suddenly the sound of a muffled explosion came through the barrier, followed by shouts and blaster fire. What was going on back there?

Then silence.

No more Imps.

"What now, Mandalorian?" asked Forty-Nine quietly.

Din shook his head.

There seemed to be some stirring behind the barrier, then someone approaching through the gap. A big, deep voice boomed out.

"Defenders," it said. "Put down your weapons. We're not with the Empire. We're here to help."

"Are you with the New Republic?" asked Din.

"Not exactly." A big, deep, familiar voice. Recognition and gratitude flooded Din. He gestured at the men around him to stand down.

"A friend," he said.

It sounded like someone was struggling through the gap. "Dammit," someone muttered. Then a head emerged, black flecked with gray. "How the hell did those Imps manage to crawl through this?" A tall, broad-shouldered man armed with a simple blaster pulled himself out of the wreckage. He got to his feet and looked down with irritation at a rip in the sleeve of his plain but expensive tunic. Then he got a good look at Din and the others in the dim light and smiled widely. "Mando!"

"Karga," said Din. He stepped forward and stretched out his hand to help the magistrate over the pile of rubble and dead Imps. "You don't know how glad I am to see you."

"Same here." Greef Karga frowned at the sleeping child on Din's back. "That boy all right?"

"He's had a busy day."

"I'll bet."

Now more people began to make their way through the gaps, a motley but hard-looking group of mercenaries. A mix of humans, Twi'leks, and Rodians. "Who's with you?"

"Called in a few favors with some Guild members, and I got an unexpected windfall," Karga answered. "I have two dozen people with me. Plus a few others came along for the ride."

A helmeted head poked through the gap. "Well, well, look who's here." Another familiar voice, faintly mocking. A figure in painted Mandalorian armor emerged and came to stand next to Din and Karga. He took off his helmet and Din had never been so glad to see those handsome, arrogant features in his life.

"Woves," he said, reaching out his hand. Axe Woves took it.

"Always at the center of trouble, aren't you?" he asked. "Another nice nest of Imps you've managed to kick."

Din shrugged. "How many are with you?"

"Sixteen, Nite Owls mostly but several brothers and sisters from your old Covert."

"You mobilized quickly."

"Jumped at the chance to hit the Empire once more. A refreshing change of pace from quarreling with one another over religious doctrine. Bo-Katan sends her regards, as does the Armorer, but as you can imagine they have their hands full."

"Of course."

Karga watched this exchange with bemusement. "When your message came over the old Guild channel, I activated a local crew I could trust. The Daimyo of Tatooine got in touch with me out of the blue and offered me enough credits to defray any cost. Who am I to say no?" Din felt another rush of gratitude. Did Boba Fett know about these clones, and would he even care? "And then your fellow Mandalorians stopped by Nevarro wondering if anyone wanted to tag along."

"Who's in charge back on Nevarro?" asked Din.

"IG and Meerspla."

"The Mythrol?" asked Din incredulously. "You trust that guy?"

"As much as I trust anyone. Which isn't much. Secret of my success." Karga smiled genially. "Plus I have a new administrator on the way to help. Anyway. We picked up Imperial comms chatter about the river. So we busted in back there, there's something like an abandoned transit station about halfway between the old town and the prison. Helped ourselves to a few assault boats." He smiled widely. "These Imps never knew what him 'em. But there could be more coming. They've taken control of that town, or the Arena, whatever you call it."

"Who are these?" asked Woves suddenly, eyeing Forty-Nine and the other prisoners.

"These men were prisoners here. They fight at my side."

"Clones," said Woves, his sneer undisguised.

Forty-Nine, unfazed, was clearly used to Woves' reaction. "How observant you are," he said. "Congratulations."

"We don't have time for this," said Din wearily. "I trust them. So should you."

Woves rolled his eyes and went back to speak with the other Mandalorians emerging from the gap. Karga watched him go, then leaned in to whisper to Din. "Prickly as anything but one hell of a fighter."

"Yeah." This could describe Woves but also any given Mandalorian.

"What next?"

"Next is we get back to the top." He tried the comms link again. "Engineer! Mayfeld!"

Mayfeld's voice came back, staticky but understandable. "Mando? About time!"

"We've pushed back the Imps here. Status?"

"Not good. They retook the hangar and the control room level. They just keep coming! There's more of us with the prisoners but they have a hell of a lot of firepower."

"Can you use the floor against them?"

"Ain't happening," said Mayfeld.

The Engineer's voice now crackled through. "They have a clever—what's the slang?—slicer with them. They've managed to take back control from me. I'm working as fast as I can but yet again I need you to buy me time."

"Mayfeld, we're coming," said Din. "And we have help. On our way." He turned to Karga and Forty-Nine. "Your team and Forty-Nine here keep this level secure. Help the Engineer—she's trying to give us control of the killing floor."

Karga nodded—Din's message had described the floor. "Hell of weapon if we can do that."

"Send maybe ten of your people up a few levels to help the other prisoners and the New Republic rangers." Then Din turned to Woves, who was studying the tip of the siege drill.

"This is beskar," Woves said.

"Yes."

"The swine." He fingered the shining metal. His conversation switched fluidly to Mando'a. "I will claim this beskar for Mandalore in the name of my clan."

"No," said Din. It wasn't a good time for this conversation but Din bristled at Woves' attitude.

Woves blinked. "No?"

"That is the honor of my son Din Grogu and Clan Mudhorn. He defeated and destroyed this thing, as he defeated the Dark Trooper of the Enemy."

Woves looked from Din's faceplate to the sleeping child. "That tiny infant currently asleep on your back."

"Yes."

"He defeated these machines."

"Yes. You know his capabilities. Did you not hear the testimony of Lady Kryze?" Karga raised his eyebrows at his tone, and Din took a deep breath. Time to focus on the immediate problem. "Brother. As always I am grateful that you came to my aid. Let us put this aside for the present so we may defeat the Enemy." He spoke again in Basic for the sake of Karga and the others. "The Empire has retaken the upper levels. We're trying to get control of the floor but there's been a setback. I ask everyone with the Rising Phoenix to join me."

The other Mandalorians gathered around them. A few had removed their helmets, watching the conversation impassively. Din nodded at some familiar figures, comrades from the Covert he had known for years—not close friends exactly, he had never had many of those even among the other Foundlings. But he knew he could trust them with his life.

He also knew he could trust Woves.

"Sounds like a plan," said Karga, looking significantly at Woves. Woves nodded.

"Agreed. Our first duty is to destroy this infestation, isn't it?" He put his helmet back in place and they started back to the bottom level of the prison. It had been a long time since proper sleep and food. He envied Grogu as he napped. Part of Din just wanted to find a hole, curl up inside with his boy, and sleep for days. But the presence of fresh, trusted allies buoyed him and lifted his courage. There was no choice—he had to keep going.

Soon, he told himself.

Back at the muddy pit, they could hear the sounds of battle all around them. Woves looked up at the vast Panopticon looming around them and cursed in Mando'a. Karga whistled.

"I didn't quite understand, before," he said. "Now I see. All of this slave labor. Staggers the imagination."

"Disgusting," spat Woves. "Ready when you are, Djarin."

Din nodded and turned to Karga. "The Engineer's in there. She knows how this place works and she's helping us, but she's physically vulnerable. Protect her."

"We will. You sure you wanna take him with you?" asked Karga, eying the dozing kid, but his tone sounded like he knew it was a futile question.

"Yes. We've made it this far. We'll see this through together." Too bad Grogu was going to miss another jetpack ride. Quickly he told the dozen Mandalorians accompanying him about the layout of the place and what they might expect. Mayfeld's voice came over the comms channel.

"Are you waiting for a fucking engraved invitation? Haul that jetpack up here!" In the distance Cara barked orders to her team.

"Another prisoner?" asked Woves.

"It's complicated. Let's go."

And then group took flight, away from the bottom of the prison and up the top levels where Cara, Mayfeld, and the others were fighting for their lives.