Hello again, yes I am still alive. If this story does well, I might look into changing "Samsara" into first person. Enjoy!

Honor Bound Chapter 1: "A galaxy Far, Far Away"

Somewhere in the Outer Rim, in a system whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago—one of those who keeps a blaster and beskar'gam on his person, and has a father and Mand'alor as a mentor, and whose likeness I aspired to be.

Our Mand'alor bordered 44 years at death, was of sturdy constitution and a Haat Mando'ad, a True Mandalorian. He led our people in the fight against the Kyr'tsad terrorists, but was overthrown in a conspiratorial plot led by the traitorous Tor Vizsla, whose name I loathe to say. The coward pleaded falsities to the Jedi who foolishly took him for his word and slaughtered our people, handing the reins of Mandalore over to Vizsla and his Death Watch thugs.

I was but a child then, barely cognizant of the harsh realities that held up our world and the greater political apparatus of Mandalore at large. While others bent the knee to Family Vizsla and their cowardice, I held secret allegiance to the true Mand'alor even if he was no longer such. I dreamed of one day fighting by his side to lead our people into a new age of honor and virtue. A new age led by the Resol'nare. I was young and naive then. I saw myself as a hero, the protagonist of a story detailing this chapter of Mandalore's history. I thought we could be saved.

I was a fool.

Butchered in an arena on Geonosis, our Mand'alor was slain in "combat", if it could even be called such. His death marked the end of the galaxy we had known for millennia and gave birth to a conflict the likes of which had never been seen. Brother pitted against brother, mothers pitted against daughters, the entire galaxy took up arms against itself in a conflict that could mold the galactic landscape for centuries to come.

In the face of such a consequential war, the fight against Kyr'tsad felt insignificant; the struggle for the Resol'nare looked meaningless. The war could rage for years, claiming billions of lives without a regard to who was Mand'alor. What was one system's strife against a backdrop of death and destruction? What was the Resol'nare in the face of such violence? The death of the son of Mereel opened my eyes to the truth—There are no heroes. There are no protagonists. We all are naught but simple cogs in the galactic machine, churning endlessly to prop up the galactic regime. Nothing mattered and everything was in vain, and it is with certainty that I say this:

The Mandalorians are dead.

I awoke to the acrid stench of iron and must. Its putrid tendrils coiled around my beskar helm, infiltrating the smallest imperfection and permeating throughout the inner chamber.

"…me."

I blinked, struggling to get a sense of my surroundings. Thin wisps of light filtered through the helmet's visor. Blasted displays. As convenient as armor modifications were, they inevitably came with reliability issues. I begrudgingly gave the helmet a few hard slaps. The inner speaker buzzed for a moment before dying down again.

The helmet received energy, but cut out immediately…

"...cuse…"

…and it was fine before I replaced the powerpack… Shaab. Those damn Jawas sold me a defective part! Should have known better than to trust anything that tumbled out of a sand crawler. I flipped open a panel on my wrist guard and flicked a switch.

Nothing.

"Excuse me!"

I blinked. Had the voice been any less indignant, I would've whirled around and slit the speaker's throat faster than a Mos Eisley womp rat could run. After all, you can't approach a Mandalorian from behind and expect to live to tell the tale. No, this voice was different. Feminine, young, maybe 19 years of age, and… Basic? Well, that was a refreshing tongue to hear. After three months of squealing Jawas and screeching Tusken Raiders, I really came to appreciate simple Basic. Sure as hell beat the gurgling draul of Nal Hutta.

"Explain yourself! Depending on your answer, I will shoot."

I rolled my eyes. Typical Outer Rim behavior: Shoot first, ask questions later. "Yeah, and I'm Jango Fett." Sarcasm, a Mandalorian's finest weapon. "A threat's meaningless if you don't intend on carrying it out."

"Excuse me?" the lady hissed.

Woah, that ticked her off. Ah, the wonders of an emotive language! How long has it been since I last felt a blaster pressed against my neck? Sure, it was a particularly vulnerable spot, being unarmed and all, but this girlie picked that out in a flash. She's good.

I flipped the switch again. A sharp buzz tickled my ears as several internal displays flickered to life. Turning something off and on again—oldest trick in the book, and yet it never fails. Definitely replacing that shitty battery the moment I get my hands on that Jawa.

"You had all the time in the galaxy to off me when I was out," I replied. "You're either curious, or incredibly stupid. You were never going to shoot me."

I fastened the panel shut as visual sensors came back online. The first thing I noticed was an incredible lack of sand. Huh, something tells me I'm not on Tatooine. Pristine condition, an urban design, and an actually tolerable room temperature? Must be one of the Core Worlds. Sweeping panoramic windows, skyscrapers–Coruscant? No, Coruscant didn't have a single green spot on its miserable surface, not any that mattered.

The sky was a clear blue with several odd rings in the upper atmosphere. Shipyards. Has to be Corellia. A Republic world. Any planet sympathetic to the Republic was a friend of the Jedi and an enemy to every Haat Mando'ad. "Haar'chak, Corellian scum… What do you want?"

"Corellian…?" It didn't take a genius to sense her confusion. A farce!

"You Republic dog!" I spat. "Come to finish the job, huh? You can't fool me. I can see your kriffing shipyards. Corellia's the only Core World, bar Kuat, that's got 'em that big."

"Kore'rellia…? Koo'wat…? I'm sorry, this is the Academy City of Kivotos."

Academy City? Corulag is the only Core World known for its academy… "Kivotos? Inner or Outer Rim?"

"I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with those terms."

For the love of… "Are you daft? The Inner and Outer Rim?! The two most populous regions in the galaxy! You call this place the 'Academy City', but what kind of back water, moisture farming school neglects basic Galactic geography? Forget it. How far is Kivotos from the planet Coruscant?" I felt the pressure against my neck weaken. Fool, never holster your weapon with a hostile around.

"Do you mean to tell me you came from a different planet?"

What an asinine question. "Enough of your games!" Time to face the music. My audiovisual sensors automatically compensated for my sudden movements, allowing me to turn on a dime without the room spinning around me. I drew my twin WESTAR-34's, ready to blast a couple of holes through her skull. "Do you take me for a fool, Jed–" My words died in my throat.

That was not the uniform of a Republic agent. A pristine white outfit with form fitting trimmings? Hell, it wasn't even in the style of the prestigious Solo family of the old Corellian Empire. This girl was either filthy rich, or incredibly vain. Which wouldn't be utterly inconceivable. With long, flowing, bicolored hair and razor sharp ears, she oozed regality to the point where you'd be forgiven for thinking she was royalty. I mean, her hair was longer than her damn coat. Which was, of course, white, but surprisingly practical as it housed her weapon holstered by her hips.

She appeared to have been mid training, as a strange remote floated listlessly above her head. The sapphire ring slowly bobbed up and down of its own accord as if controlled by some invisible force. If her taste in fashion was any indication of her personality, then she was boring as hell. The sole splashes of color on her entire person were her black tights and her blue necktie which hung over her—Holy mother of Manda'yaim…. They don't grow 'em that big back home.

"Computer, identify her species." A moment passed before a blaring red notification lit up the inner chamber of my helmet: "Species not found".

I slowly lowered my blasters. That… wasn't possible. Every single species in the known galaxy was indexed in the Mandalorian archive. There wasn't a single alien the Computer wouldn't recognize, unless… I felt a gaping pit in my stomach. "You're…you're not from The Galaxy, are you?"

The buxom stranger shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

By this point, the Maw had formed in my gut, tearing me up from the inside. My head was muddled as a smog of incoherent thoughts rolled in over my mind.

There was no Republic. There was no Mandalore. Then what should I do? Where should I go? No matter what I said or did, no matter what path I followed, I was stuck in some foreign land.

And still, whether I liked it or not, life moved on in this "other world". These aliens went about their lives: eating, breathing, living, and dying. All of this without a care for the conflict that threatened to consume the Galaxy at large. Was there no way back?

No, none by denying common sense. I'd be remiss to conjure up fantastical flights of fancy. Say I was transported to an alien world by some random event; say this place was an extragalactic alien planet, and, somehow, I was able to return to Tatooine by some miracle, then who's to say that same event won't snatch me back up and return me to this destroyer-forsaken planet? In the same vein, if the galaxy has been in continuous existence for thousands upon thousands of years, then how has no one ever witnessed this very event? Given an eternity, an exceedingly rare occasion is still guaranteed to occur more than once. You'd expect hundreds of stories about unwitting people popping in and out of existence.

No, I was as Mandalorian is to Nal Hutta as Jawa is to Hoth—simply an alien on a foreign planet. These people, weird as they were, called this planet home, just as I once called Mandalore my own. Yet, I had so many questions, and I didn't even know where to start. "Then… What do you call this place?"

The stranger, tension visibly dissipating from her shoulders, took a cautious step towards me. "Sanctum Tower. Federal Student Council's office. Now, who are you?"

I shook my head. What was the point? The name given to me as a foundling meant nothing now—now that there was a war—now that I was lost. "I'm just a simple man, making his way through the Galaxy. I don't have a name. At least not one that matters. As for how I got here." A beleaguered breath slipped past my lips. "Your guess would be as good as mine. One moment I was preparing for bed, and the next I'm here. Probably some Jedi magic 'hocus pocus'."

I hesitated for a moment. None of my actions or words could affect the Galaxy at large, so why continue on if everything was in vain? But a small part of me, whether it was curiosity or some greater power, urging me forward, I didn't know, but something inside me told me to keep trying. "What's with the remote?"

"Excuse me?"

"The droid floating above your head."

The stranger looked up, her knitted eyebrows relaxing. "Ah, this? It's my Halo. Every student in Kivotos has one."

Halo… In other words an ethereal ring of sorts. Dammit! With every question she answered, two more took its place. At least she wasn't a Jedi foundling. "And you are…?"

The bespectacled lady pushed up her glasses with a sharp nod. I guess she's glad to be moving things along. "Nanagami, Rin. Chief Administrative Officer, Vice President of the Federal Student Council, and Acting President of the Federal Student Council."

Shaab, not another fucking republic. At least she, Rin, seemed decent enough. "Why am I here?"

"Well, considering your story—"

"You actually bought that? I'm surprised. Everything I've said would mean jack all to a terra-bound, pre-FTL species."

Judging by the subtle twitch in her eye, I believed I had a knack for getting on her nerves. Rin pushed up her glasses again. "Please refrain from interrupting. As I was saying before you interrupted—"

"I'll keep that in mind, please, continue."

Her twitch returned with a vengeance. Rin's chest rose; her shoulders taut. With a great deal of restraint, she let the air slowly leak from her lips as her shoulders relaxed again. "As I was saying… Normally, I wouldn't lend a single ounce of credence to such an outlandish claim, but…" Her eyes gradually faded over as she trailed off, her gaze meandering off to destroyer knows where. "But given the circumstances… I suppose I can invest a modicum of stock in them…"

It appeared that not everything was as it seemed. Something was bothering Rin, and I didn't really care to find out. Better change the topic. "So, why am I here?"

"That I am unsure of." She pursed her lips. "By chance, do the words 'Ibic Manda' mean anything to you?"

This is the way. Her words sent a shock down my spine. Only my years of training as a foundling kept my tongue in check. How she learned of our mantra was beyond me, but clearly there was some greater power at work. Something far beyond our ability to add or detract. "More… than you could ever imagine."

A worm of a smile wriggled its way past her iron guard, slipping onto her face. "Then it seems you're the one we've been waiting for."

Sure it wasn't the happiest expression I'd ever seen, but the elusive smile and the subtle twinkle in her eyes provided the smallest of windows into her soul, affording me a tiny gift—a glimpse at the tender heartwood that laid beneath her sturdy bark. It reminded me of happier times—of simpler times. Before the Jedi.

Before the Republic.

What do you know? You can smile. "You should smile more," I offered with a ghost of a smile. Not that she could see it. "A constant frown only serves to mar your elegance."

A clatter echoed throughout the room. To think such narrow and slim eyes could widen to such a size. Her face was awash with a red glow as she sputtered like a kit-bashed Podracer. It would suffice to say that I had successfully caught her off guard. Then it all came crashing down as quickly as it had appeared. Rin's eyes immediately thinned to their original size, her gaze wandering aside looking askance. "K-keep your filthy words to yourself."

I rolled my eyes. She really did act like an Outer Rimmer. "So are you going to explain, or what?"

Rin cleared her throat. "The Federal Student Council President before she…" her breath tapered to a pause. She floundered for a bit, seemingly choosing her words with great care as if uttering a simple mistake would cause her world to collapse around her.

"Before she?" I pushed.

Her chest rose as though swallowing a mouthful of air, her breath shuddering on her lips. "Before she disappeared…"

I nodded. Her president was as good as dead. No one goes missing and suddenly reappears months later totally fine and dandy, and she was running from the truth. Foolish, but even I had the tact to remain silent.

Rin pinched the bridge of her nose as her shoulders quivered. "She said we'd be assisted by an adult, one that could help solve the problems plaguing Kivotos…"

That sounded like the words of a desperate child grasping at straws. "And you think that's me? What makes you think that? I'm a nobody—a stranger to your world."

"The president, she… she said a person who understood Ibic Manda—"

"Speaking." I smirked, thankful she couldn't see my expression through my helmet.

The corner of her jaw twitched. Any semblance of sorrow drained from her eyes as the familiar disdain returned. It was devilishly easy getting under her skin. "...And said they would be our Sensei."

Sensei? That's not a word I recognize… sounded like a title of some discretion. Regardless, for Rin, a pre-FTL woman to know our mantra: to recite the words Ibic Manda, despite having no contact with the Galactic community; that was incomprehensible at best, and yet somehow she did. Undoubtedly, there were some powerful forces at work here…

Here I was, an alien in a foreign land, stuck with no apparent way back home. On one hand, I had a potentially powerful ally which would be very useful. On the other hand, I could turn her down and find my own way back to the known corner of the Galaxy. It was the Mandalorian thing to do: carve out your destiny with your own two hands utilizing your own power.

But the Mandalorians were dead.

Where did traditionalism get us? Obsessive fundamentalism only led to the rise of the Kyr'tsad. Then there was Rin and her mysterious Federal Student Council, the FSC. Somehow, by the grace of Kad Ha'rangir, these students knew our mantra. In the face of such a cosmic coincidence, I was forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, I was supposed to be here… I had a feeling that Rin knew more than she let on, and if she didn't, at least I could use her resources to dig around… Whether I liked it or not, working with Rin was my best bet of getting off world. "Fine. I'll take the job, but only until I find a way home."

"That is… acceptable. Follow me." She walked away without so much as waiting for a response.

All business, no fun. Rin would make for an excellent bounty hunter, though that was best kept to myself. I watched her walk towards the far end of the room. Sure, she seemed genuine enough, but it behooved me to be cautious. There could be a trap waiting around the corner…

…and as expected—nothing. I moved to follow, but nearly tripped when my legs met unexpected resistance. The earth, with her magnetic arms, wrapped me in an embrace, refusing to let go. I looked down at the metallic floor. I must have accidentally engaged the magnetic field in my boots. With a press of a button, I cut power to the module and quickly caught up with Rin. We walked in relative silence, the heavy clunking of my boots echoing throughout the hall.

We soon approached a glass door. Rin's face fell the moment it came into view. There, on the other side of the door, were several girls, students judging by their halos. Whoever they were, Rin's terse sigh meant only one thing: they were not here for tea.

The moment Rin entered the room, a girl with a black, machine-like halo stomped up to us. "Hey! Acting FSC President! What's the meaning of all the hold up?" Her tirade came screeching to a halt the moment she noticed me. Her indigo eyes seemed to scan my person, no doubt confused by my armor's Alien design. "Who's the adult?"

That's an odd question. An odd question from an odd person. The inhabitants of the Inner and Outer Rim had a wide variety of hair colors, from red to black and even the occasional tentacle, but purple? No, that was a novelty even to the Hutts. It begged the question, "how different were the inhabitants of Kivotos?" Because it really seemed like everyone in the Academic City had a unique sense of fashion. Perhaps if you closed one eye and squinted real hard, then maybe this student could almost fit in with the posh crowds on Coruscant.

I've only seen a few in passing, but Senators and Magnates seemed to prefer flowing robes, ridiculous wigs, and gaudy colors. Blazers weren't exactly popular in the known parts of the Galaxy, nevermind shoulder padded blazers. Skirts though… not so much.

The student's exposed thighs were a surprise given the prolific availability of slug throwers. Were they not afraid of death? Though they did suit her. The black jacket and matching skirt easily highlighted her significantly more modest proportions while still maintaining a sense of professionalism that seemed to match her expression.

She had a peculiar sharpness to her gaze that felt similar to Rin, yet somehow different. Where Rin expressed a serene sense of authority, this student reflected a more curious nature, seemingly taking subtle notes of the environment around her: the number of trees, the speed of a car, the number of students. Yes, this girl was more calculating than the rest.

"Yuuka." Rin acknowledged her presence with a nod. "This is SCHALE's new Sensei. The president personally selected him for the job."

This "Yuuka" girl leaned forward, eyeing me with no small degree of suspicion. "He looks a bit dangerous." Oh, she had no idea. "Well if the president appointed him, who am I to complain?"

Rin glanced toward me. "Sensei, this is Yuuka Hayase, Seminar's Treasurer."

"Seminar?" Was that some sort of bank? Quite the hefty job for someone who looked no more than six years my junior.

Yuuka puffed out her chest, her lips curving up with pride. "The student council of Millennium Science School."

I flipped open a panel on my vambrace. "Is that supposed to mean something?" I asked, absentmindedly fiddling with a switch. Just like Rin, Yuuka was rather easy to rile up. It was always the serious and intelligent ones who had the best reactions.

With her mouth agape, the buggeyed student looked absolutely scandalized. "Eh?! Millennium Science School! You know, the academy known throughout Kivotos for hosting the Millennium Awards?"

I brushed imaginary specks of dust from my pauldrons. "Is that some sort of dog show?"

"Dog show? Dog show?! How could you—"

"Miss Hayase, Sensei is not from Kivotos."

Yuuka deflated like a doused fire. She shrank back, her gaze softening considerably. "Oh, I-I'm so sorry. I promise, I had no idea, Sensei."

"Water under the bridge."

"Thank you, Sensei." Rin gestured towards a particularly tall student. Unlike Rin and Yuuka, her halo was savage in design and crimson red. "This is Hanekawa, Hasumi, Vice President of Trinity's Justice Task Force."

Well, that was a paramilitary organization if I've ever heard of one. If Yuuka and Rin were strange, then Hasumi was the embodiment of the word Alien. I've seen all sorts of aliens, but I've never encountered one with, of all things, feathered wings. Sure, smugglers and pirates espoused rumors of the Angels, but that's all they were—stories—myths! Yet here she was before my very eyes; an undeniably angelic student.

Something must have been lost in translation, because the version I heard said the 'most beautiful creatures in the entire Galaxy' were 'white as snow', however, Hasumi was dressed head to toe in black and red. Then again, the smuggler was speaking Huttese, a language I didn't care much for.

Rin would have made a better angel, sans the wings of course. She was Hasumi's antithesis. Where Rin wore a professional coat, Hasumi wore a revealing blouse several sizes too small. Where Rin sported a short skirt, Hasumi had donned a flowing dress. While Hasumi's eyes were calm and demure, almost introspective, it lacked the sharp judgement that distinguished the previous students.

All of this was tied together by a red necktie that covered her chest and—just what are they feeding these students?!

"Beside her are Hinomiya, Chinatsu, and Morizuki, Suzumi."

I was starting to see a trend here… Most, if not all, the students appeared to wear some sort of blouse-skirt combination: quite easy to move in, but did little to protect them from any damage, and yet, every single student was armed with a slug thrower. Furthermore, every student possessed a unique halo. Chinatsu's was red in color and resembled a simple crosshair, while Suzumi's halo was a pinkish system of rings.

I wonder if they have any meaning…

Rin cleared her throat. "Now, I am well aware why you irksome—I mean important representatives have come here today." I couldn't hold back a snort. Perhaps Rin and I had more in common than I thought.

"You're here to blame us for the fuss happening in Kivotos, correct?"

That sent Yuuka into a rage. She frowned severely, her thin eyebrows scrunched at a steep angle. "If you understand that much, then do something about it! You are the Federal Student Council, right?!" She snapped.

Chinatsu nodded in agreement. "There are rumors that students under the FSC's custody, that's you, have escaped from their… accommodations."

Now that was interesting. A merry band of dangerous criminals was roaming the land without a care in the Galaxy.

Suzumi huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose with a shake of her head. "I'm here to report a sharp increase of attacks on our students by thugs belonging to unsanctioned clubs. Public safety is your responsibility."

I glanced up at the Rin through one of my helmet's many internal displays. I've learned many things during my short time as a wanderer: cooking, crafting, and even Rancor wrangling. However, amongst all the things I've learned, interpreting expressions stuck with me the most. People could have one of many reactions. It all depended on the situation and their personality, and it was generally an ill omen when someone remained visibly unperturbed by adversity.

Normally, the confronted party would lash out or otherwise vehemently deny their opponent: Their eyes would widen, pupils constricting. This was accompanied by heavy breathing and a flushed face as the heart flooded their body with blood to prepare for an inevitable confrontation. These were all normal signs of high energy emotion. After all, anger and disbelief were perfectly normal reactions to conflict. In fact, they were the expected reactions.

However, Rin defied that expectation. She stood like a tree with her arms clamped firmly by her side. Her eyes remained still seemingly frozen in place. Her chest neither rose, nor fell. This wasn't the reaction of someone who felt wronged. No, this was the reaction of someone who was at odds with themself: someone who agreed with their opponent: someone who believed that maybe the situation would be better without them: someone who would force down all their emotions until they reached a breaking point.

And that was the most dangerous reaction to adversity.

Yuuka took an aggressive step forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Rin. "And what is the president doing, huh? Why is the GSC in such a sorry state of affairs? I demand to see her this instant!"

This bickering lot would get nowhere. On one hand, I understood their frustration. They saw Rin as the face of a crippled, inefficient system. On the other, Rin was more than just a faceless apparatus. She had dreams and aspirations of her own, and if our previous conversation was an indication—a grieving friend.

I've seen enough. I stepped between them, partially blocking Rin with an outstretched arm. "Show some decorum, Seminar. I expected much more from a member of the council."

I could only imagine the effect this had on the students: an unknown individual armored head to toe and armed to the teeth with unknown weaponry.

Hasumi cleared her throat. "Sensei, with all due respect, how could you justify this—"

"The president is missing." The reaction was immediate. One by one, shock spread from one student to another as they looked amongst each other in disbelief.

Yuuka bit her lips. "The rumors were true…"

Oh? She knew… In reality, I didn't care much for her situation, or Rin's for that matter, but some things needed to be said. "So you knew? Your lack of empathy astounds me, Seminar. Yes, Rin is the acting FSC president. Yes, she's responsible for your problems, but she's still human." At least I was fairly sure she was, but that was beside the point. The source of Kivotos's chaos was painfully clear: the students were too immature. Every single one of them wanted someone to solve their problem for them despite being more than capable of doing so themselves.

"It's easy to point fingers and blame someone, but next time, maybe you should pick someone who isn't mourning the loss of their friend?"

Yuuka was utterly blindsided by what was probably her first scolding in a long while. She floundered, opening and closing her mouth as she struggled to form a coherent sentence. "I…"

"I think you owe Rin an apology. All of you." I glanced over my shoulder. Rin looked more surprised than anything. Heh, disaster averted.

Yuuka took a sudden interest in her shoes. "Well… it's true that I may have been out of line… So, yes, I suppose I can afford an apology…" She bowed her head with the other students quickly following suit.

I chuckled. I guess that was the best I was getting from Yuuka. It was one thing to apologize to an adult, but apologizing to a fellow student?—That was another Rancor. It was funny, really, how much she reminded me of myself. We were all once hot headed fools. It was impossible to stay mad with them. How could you when it was a student's job to make mistakes? Only by making mistakes and learning the valuable lessons they entailed could a student grow into a functioning member of society. In a way, I could see myself in them. "Good now then—"

A tall student with blonde hair scrambled into the room. "Rin! One of the escaped students rallied local gangs and stormed SCHALE's office building!"

I turned away from the pink student, looking out over the complex cityscape through a distant window. "Which one is it?"

Hasumi walked up to me, her long skirt brushing her ankles. "The tall one in the distance." She replied.

Rin grabbed my shoulder. "Sensei, the SCHALE building is over 30 km away. We must take a helicopter if we're to make it there on time."

"That won't be necessary." I pointed my arm towards the large windows, the accompanying vambrace bristling to life. It didn't take a genius to figure out what I was about to do.

"...Sensei…?"

A single miniature concussion missile erupted from its beskar housing. The tiny projectile exploded mere inches from the glass surface, throwing up a blue cloud of gas and energy. The resulting shock wave hurled the broken window away from the building and onto the streets below.

"Eh?!" Yuuka, the farthest from the blast, blinked owlishly across a veil of thin smoke.

Rin, on the other hand, was not pleased. Understandable, since I just blew a hole in her building. "Sensei! Just what do you think you're doing?!"

"I'll meet you there." With a running start, I pushed off the floor, hurling myself out the window. A familiar warmth tickled my legs as flames lapped at the Beskar alloy plating. My stomach fell as the sudden vertical thrust reversed my body's inertia. After 15 years, I still couldn't get enough of this feeling.

"You can fly?!" Yuuka cried out.

I looked down through the broken glass and smoke. I recognized the look in Yuuka's eyes—the eyes of a child who just found a brand new toy and couldn't wait to play with it. "I can fly."

Beskar'gam—The traditional armor of Mandalorian warriors. Typically made from a beskar metal alloy.

Haat Mando'ad—True Mandalorian. Lit. "True Child of Mandalore".

Mand'alor — Leader or ruler of the Mandalorians.

Haar'chak—Dammit

Manda'yaim—Mandalore (the planet)

Kyr'tsad—The Death Watch, a group of Mandalorian extremists terrorists led by Family Vizsla.

Resol'nare—The six core tenants of the Mandalorian code. Lit. "Six Actions".

Rangir—Lit. "To hell with it!".

Shaab–Fuck

Ibic Manda–This is the way. Lit. "This is the Mandalorian Code". There is an alternative Mando'a translation, but I liked this one.

Kad Ha'rangir—Ancient Mandalorian god of growth, change, and destruction