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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years ago

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Hokan’yc

A RESOL’NARE FLASHBACK ONE SHOT

A/N: This is long overdue and something I started working on WEEKS ago when @darkmist111 asked a question regarding Din and Navina’s former relationships. I mentioned a girl named Aashi that Din fell for when he was still a teenaged mando learning how to become a warrior and decided that I needed to tell their story so we know what happened and why he’s flying solo now. This is CHOCK-FULL of my personal thoughts on what training in the covert would be like so forgive me if my HCs contradict canon and please enjoy some young mandos in love.

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Warning: violence, death, injury- they are Mandalorians you guys, This is the Way and all that jazz.

Word Count: 6k

-- -- -- --

He noticed right away.

The others did, too. They always did. It was an increasingly rare occurrence as they got older. The youngest in the covert were far more used to the sudden appearance of a new student among their numbers. Whether they’d been born a member of The Tribe or taken in as a foundling like he had, all children began combat training after their 8th birthday, so the addition of a new face- or more accurately an unfamiliar helmet- in class was anticipated, expected. But by the time they’d advanced through mid level and into the final years of their required training, newcomers were few and far between.

And they stood out. Hushed whispers of buyca circulated through the room, heads tilting in the direction of the only helmet not decorated with dings and dents.

The Instructor’s gloved hands came together in two thunderous claps to signal the start of the day’s training, the chatter in the dimly lit sparring hall dissipating as the upper level class fell in line for drills. There were no assigned rankings, the students simply using height order to determine who stood where, the tallest in the last of four rows. Third row had been his designation for years, never quite the largest or most formidable in the room. But the new addition had crowded the second row by one, the overflow meaning that he would need to step back.

Fourth row, finally, thanks to the shiny buyca.

He was welcomed to the ranks of the teenaged giants with a rough elbow from Hast, the blunt jab to the ribs serving both as a kind of jovial congratulations for moving up in the world as well as a reminder that he was still the smallest of the giants. Before he could return the gesture with a thump or smack of his own though, the Instructor's booming voice silenced both of the boys’ grunts and laughter.

“Hast! Djarin!” He flinched behind his visor and knew the broad shouldered hulk beside him did, too. Though he didn’t need to, both of them already aware of what they were in for, the Instructor pointed at the front of the room, indicating that they should join him there. “Looks like you’ve volunteered to be my demonstration assistants for today’s technique.” Dank farrik.

As he and his friend reached the front of the hall, feeling the stares of the rest of the class and knowing that under their helmets they were all biting the insides of their cheeks to keep from laughing at the misfortune the two had found themselves in, he prepared himself for a rough three hours. They’d worked on a single combat series that started with a sweep from the standing position and progressed to the ground, working on maintaining control during a fight before ending in a leg attack that when applied at full force was developed to disable the knee joint completely. Both volunteers had taken fall after fall, their limbs manipulated over and over as the Instructor demonstrated and the students got their practice in. While they were only applying light pressure as they torqued and twisted and pulled on the two volunteers’ legs, the two were left sore and aching from the repetition of the series.

If the reps and demonstrations weren’t enough, the half hour of sparring rounds afterwards certainly was.

Despite the over-torqued joints, fatigued muscles and sore spots from tight grips and unexpectedly harsh contact with the ground, he held his own for the first four rounds grappling almost as he did at full capacity. Vizsla was twice his size and always got the best of him, though still no more than usual. Hast had it just as rough as he did that day, so neither of them completed a submission during their round. He managed to sweep and submit Gralin, which was actually an improvement on their last match up, and he and Kevaz had each pulled off a submission within the allotted time of the round. Trying to control his breathing in the quick respite allowed between friendly simulated warfare, he hoped that there was still some herbal salve left in the jar back in his quarters. I’m going to need it.

His final round turned out to be the one that did him in. And it was against her- the buyca.

He, like all Mandalorians, knew that it didn’t matter if a warrior was male or female, large or small. It didn’t matter if they were quick or strong. What mattered was how well they could use the attributes and skills that they did have to defeat their opponent. He, like all Mandalorians, knew that underestimating your enemy before the fight begins is the first step in losing that fight. That’s not what he did with her, though the outcome was still the same.

The last thing he noticed as he squared off facing the newcomer, was the fact that even though she had also just finished three hours of drills and four rounds prior to that one, her helmet was still completely undented. It wasn’t even smudged. Has she even hit the ground? Mere seconds into the round he was on his back and he didn’t know how he’d gotten there, but she hadn’t let up, taking full advantage of his disorientation and finishing a very basic but extremely efficient shoulder attack. The rest of the round had been more of the same, though he was able to at least fend off any more completed submissions. By the time the Instructor called for the end of the day’s training, he was spent. But she seemed only mildly inconvenienced from the hours of physical exertion they had all just endured.

He decided right away that he had to learn what she knew.

Able to walk with far more ease than he could at the moment though, she was out of the sparring hall and heading towards the system of tunnels leading to the living quarters. Sighing, he waved off Hast and Vizsla’s attempts to get his attention, and gritting his teeth, hobbled as quickly as he could after her. “Hey,” he huffed, raising one hand in her direction even though she was facing the other way.

She slowed her pace to allow him to gain some ground, though she didn’t turn or stop. “Hey,” she responded almost questioningly, tone a mixture of uncertainty and amusement.

“I… you fight well.” He clenched his eyes shut and dropped his chin. You fight well? Di'kut.

That did make her stop, but only until he was immediately to her left, starting up again once he had a fair chance at keeping stride with her. Releasing a breath that sounded like a laugh, she nodded. “I know I do, but thanks.”

“I meant… your technique. It’s-” He tried to recall how she’d upended him so quickly, where she’d made her grips, the placement of her weight, but it was a blur. He shook his head. “I’ve never seen it. Not even in class.” So how do you know it? That was what he wanted to ask. How does a foundling know how to fight like that?

As though in answer to his unasked questions, she turned her head to face him. “We learned differently on Concordia.”

He blinked, the mention of Mandalore’s moon stopping him in his tracks. What? Of course it made sense now that she wasn’t new to Mandalorian culture. On the contrary, she’d been more heavily steeped in it than any of them. But I thought… Oh. It clicked then, that the buyca wasn’t that at all, not if she was raised on Concordia.

“When things… when we had to leave, my family came here.” She gestured at the walls of the tunnel they were walking through. “Dantooine is the only Mandalorian covert they knew of, so we joined our brothers and sisters here.” Turning back in the direction that they were walking, she nodded. “This is the Way.”

There was pain and heaviness in those words as she spoke them, but he knew that was true no matter who they came from. “This is the Way,” he responded.

She cleared her throat. “Right. So now that you know I’m no foundling, you don’t have to feel so bad for what happened back there.” She jabbed a thumb backwards towards the sparring hall.

He tried to shake his head but a sudden pinching sensation shot down his neck in protest so he aborted the motion. “No, that’s not what I-”

“No?” She stopped near the split of the tunnel where one branch led to the mess hall and the healing wing and the other to the collection of carved out spaces each occupied by Mandalorian families. He stopped as well, thankful for the chance to rest. She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck one hip out. “Then what did you chase me down for exactly?”

“I told you.” He was slightly confused by her question. “The technique that you used against me. I’ve never seen it before.”

She regarded him silently for a beat. “No, you haven’t.” She began walking again. “That was pretty clear from how quickly I had you down.” The smirk, or what he imagined might be one, was back in her voice.

He followed, trying and failing to hide the slight limp the day’s training had left him with. “Well can you-“ He stopped short to avoid crashing into her as she spun around again , the unexpected shift in his weight causing him to wince behind his visor.

Hands on her hips, she tilted her head, the dim light from one of the torches hitting the still undented, unmarred surface of her helmet at an angle that threw light around the dark hall. “Can I what?”

“Can you teach it to me?”

A small snort of laughter came from her, shoulders bouncing as she shook her head. “Didn’t you take enough of a beating for one day?”

He shrugged. “The Instructor says we don’t learn if we don’t lose. This is the Way.”

Mandalorians were taught not to fear or resent loss. Not in life and not on the battlefield. Though victory was the goal of every Mando’ade who engaged in combat, in sparring, losing was viewed as an equally valued outcome. Every loss came with the opportunity to learn. To adapt. Each opponent is a teacher and the true winner is the one who leaves the training hall with more knowledge and sharper skills than those they came in with. He was only trying to adhere to what he’d been taught, only trying to become the best warrior that he could be.

She nodded slowly, the motion giving over to a head shake instead as she let out a burst of air. “This is the Way.” She agreed, taking a step towards him. “But,” she placed her hand on his shoulder and he was glad she couldn’t see the slight wince the light contact forced across his face. “No.”

He cocked his head to the side, taken aback, the jerky motion sending a sharp pang of soreness through his neck and down his left flank. Damn that- but he ignored the twinge and focused on her refusal. “Why not?”

He knew that she was new to their covert, but the unspoken rule in the training hall was that all trainees had something to teach each other. It had to have been like that on Concordia, too. It was more than a rule, it was a responsibility, a duty to ensure that every member of the fighting corps was as well prepared as they could be. It was important to learn not only to trust but to depend on each other in battle, in the field. They were training to join the ranks of the elite within the corps, which meant that being anything shy of lethal would be considered unprepared. I know she’s new but she-

“Because,” she laughed, the lilting sound making him snap his attention to her hidden face. “It’s Djarin, right?” He confirmed with a nod. “Well, Djarin, I can’t teach it to you now, because you’re already in rough shape and I don’t want to explain to the Instructor next class why his best training dummy is all torn to shreds.” She was teasing, he could tell, her hand still on his shoulder as she gave it a light squeeze, and despite only having known her for a few hours during which she and the rest of the trainees had taken turns trying to rip him and Hast limb from limb under the Instructor’s tutelage, he thought she might be smiling. “But,” she went on. “I’ll give you a few days to heal up and then,” she nodded and dropped her hand from his body. “Then I’ll teach it to you.”

-- -- -- -- --

A few days later, the two of them agreed to meet in the sparring hall on a rare day off from drills, the sound of his body hitting the ground echoing in the nearly empty space each time she swept him. His grunts, every time she planted her foot on his hip filled the room, the clatter of his helmet scraping against the stone beneath him as she dragged him down and extended the leg she had planted to flip him over her head, the sound of their gloved palms smacking together as she offered him a hand back to his feet after a particularly harsh sweep. But each time she sent him off his balance, he picked up another detail of the technique, piecing them all together to understand the motion.

He could feel the bruises forming each time he hit the ground, and he knew that later that night when he got undressed to wash up, just like the day he’d met her, his hip and the side of his thigh would be covered in purple-blue splotches. Planting his hand firmly behind him, he let out a breath and pushed himself back to his feet. “One more.” His eyebrows came together in concentration beneath his helmet. “I think I have it now.”

She tilted her head, arms crossed over her chest. “You don’t quit, I’ll give you that.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

On the next try, he got the jump on her, accurately making his grips and bracing the sole of his boot in the crease of her hip. Dropping his weight in a sacrifice style throw, he extended his leg like she’d shown him, finally getting the timing right to send her flipping over his head and onto her back. Following her momentum and keeping his grips, he rolled backwards over his shoulder to come up in a mounted controlled position. That was it. I- She coughed out a wheeze, the air clearly knocked from her lungs. Oh, dank farrik I-

But before he could concern himself with whether or not he’d inadvertently hurt her, she grabbed his ankle, trapped one of his arms and with a bump of her hips, rolled them both over to reverse the position so she had the upper hand once more. “Nice work, Djarin.” She released his arm and ankle and stood. “But don’t forget to maintain control once you have it.”

She was right. He knew that. The Instructor had been drilling it into his and all of their heads since they were eight years old. If he caught me losing control that fast he’d make me regret it. He sighed. “Right.”

“That was,” he looked up at her as he got to his feet. “That was really good, though. Do it again.”

-- -- -- -- --

By the end of the month he was hitting the move against Kevaz and Gralin during live rounds. He’d also learned the buyca’s clan name was Zurn, and that she was an excellent training partner for him. In two on two drills, they teamed up against Hast and Vizsla, their individual attributes complementing each other’s well. Their extra time spent drilling together had allowed them to develop good non-verbal communication skills, and they learned to read each other well.

By the end of the year even the Instructor had noticed, and he recommended that the pair complete their final stage of the elite training program together. It was customary for recruits to team up for the last tests of their abilities as the missions that would determine whether or not Mandalorians were worthy and capable of the duties that they would be expected to perform. Protecting the Tribe. Striking first against known enemies. Reconnaissance. Responding immediately to threats. They were responsibilities that the man who raised him had taken upon his shoulders- a deeper level of the Creed that was sworn by all Mandalorians. This is the Way.

His buir had given his life in that line of duty only a few years prior, when the young Mandalorian was thirteen and had just finished his mandatory training. He had mourned in the moment, as was appropriate, but he, like all in his Tribe knew that his father was not gone. He had joined the Manda and would always be a part of the collective soul that each Mando’ade shared. His choice to follow those footsteps was a choice he made to honor the man. Had he not been a member of the elite fighting corp, he would not have been there to rescue the scared boy in the bunker, and that scared boy in the bunker might not have made it out.

That boy was no longer a boy nor was he scared. He and Zurn accepted the recommendation, and one year and two months to the day that they had first met, the two of them were sent out on their first overnight mission: staking out a rebel base on the planet that had been attracting a lot of traffic to Dantooine. The covert’s main goal was staying safe, secret and hidden from the Empire. But the increase of rebel activity wouldn’t go unnoticed for long, and the Tribe needed a clearer picture as to what they were facing, and if they needed to consider relocating the covert. He’d heard whispers that Nevarro, another planet in the Outer Rim, was the selected backup, but he, like everyone who heard those rumors, hoped that that’s all they would stay.

They were camped out behind a large outcropping of rock, completely concealed from view of the base in the dark of the night. They had spent the day charting a lay of the area and choosing a position that would keep them hidden until the morning, when they could hopefully get an idea of the goings on at the rebel encampment. He leaned against the cool rock, chin tilted upwards. The fire had burned down to just the embers, still providing enough warmth to get them to sunrise, but dim enough now to see the night sky and everything in it with no interference from the flames. Once he finished his training and had a real helmet, he would be able to change the filter on the visor to block out any amount of light he wanted. But for now he had to wait.

And he had been waiting. The last time I saw the sky at night I was-

He froze, a sudden weight falling into his right hand where it lay open on the dry ground. That’s… His eyes widened as he registered what it was, her fingers curling into his palm. She isn’t...

He was still wearing his gloves, but she had taken hers off to warm her hands by the fire. She hadn’t put them back on. He could feel the difference even through the worn leather, and it caught him completely off guard.

“Six,” he blurted, immediately cursing himself the second the syllable was out.

But instead of laughing or teasing him, the way she always had in sparring, he felt her grip tighten as she moved closer. “Six what?”

I… what do I say? Should I- He tilted his head down, watching his fingers close around hers as though they were acting of their own volition. Dank farrik, why did I just-

“Djarin?” He snapped his attention back up to see that she had turned, resting the side of her helmet against the boulder so she could look at him as she spoke. “You said six.” He sighed and nodded. I did. “Six what?”

He wasn’t sure if anyone aside from his buir knew this fact about him, the man gone and this fact with him. Why would anyone care? It doesn’t matter. But instead of ignoring the non contextual number slipping out, she had asked him what it meant. Which meant that it mattered to her. He realized in that moment that there was no one else he felt comfortable enough around to let his guard down and enjoy the stars or think about how long it’s been since he’d seen them. It was only because he trusted her that he had allowed his mind to wander into memories, that he was relaxed enough to even make the slip and say something he hadn’t meant to. He realized that he actually wanted to tell her. It shouldn’t matter but it… it does.

His right hand was still occupied with hers, so he pointed with his left at the endless, swirling silver pricks of light poking through the thick velvety blue black sky. “Ca'tra.” She followed his direction and trained her gaze upwards. “I haven’t seen the stars since I was six.”

Dropping his arm back into his lap, he felt her thumb swipe across the top of his glove. She was still touching only fabric, her thumbnail snagging on a loose stitch near the opening. But she was so close to making skin to skin contact that if he so much as sneezed she would leave her thumbprint on his pulse point. If that happened she’d feel it racing.

“Me’ven?” She whispered her disbelief, swiveling her head over to look at him. Yes, really.

None of the children ever left the covert at night. It was dangerous, they were told, because outside the halls of their underground home, there were people who would capture them, hunt them simply for being what they are- Mandalorians. That was one of the many reasons that their education revolved so heavily around weapons and combat; so they would be ready to defend themselves and others when, not if, they needed to. She and her family had come to the covert later on in her training, and things had been different where she was from, so she had no real frame of reference for what it was like to give up the stars, grow up without them. For the ones born here, they don’t… they don’t even know what they’re missing.

He took a breath, readying himself to explain. Before he could, the fire cracked as the flames found a pocket of moisture or an unlucky beetle in the wood, spitting a few red hot embers towards the pair of trainees. Without thinking, he pulled her out of the way and nearly on top of himself, one of her legs falling between his knees. He heard her surprised gasp as she caught herself, reaching for his shoulder to prevent their foreheads from colliding. His left arm curved awkwardly around her shoulders as he moved them both further from the fire and out of range of any more stray embers.

As he shifted, her fingers did too, sliding from his shoulder to his neck- to the narrow sliver of his throat that was visible between his collar and his helmet. To the place where his blood ran quick and hot beneath his skin at how close they were. He swallowed, knowing she would feel the movement of his muscles beneath her touch, unable to help the way he had reacted.

He still had her hand in his, was still holding her closer than he’d ever held anyone. Say something. “Sorry, I… the fire was-“

“Djarin?” She hadn’t taken her hand away, her fingers curling around to the back of his neck.

“Y-Yeah?” He cursed himself for the waver in his voice. Another reason to look forward to the helmet he’d receive upon the completion of his training was the modulator in the speaker component. It served multiple purposes. To further disguise a Mandalorian’s identity by modifying their voice, yes, but also to cover any vocal slips of emotion or signs of weakness. Though if he was being honest with himself he wasn’t even sure if the device would be enough to hide the effect she was having on him.

It didn’t matter though. Nothing did as she slipped her fingers into the wavy curls that stuck out from beneath his helmet at the base of his skull and he thought that every last star in the galaxy could burst, the entire sky exploding at once, and it wouldn’t take his attention from that feeling.

She… she’s… His mind was working as hard to form a thought as his lungs were to keep his breathing even. Both were failing.

“I’m glad you got to see the sky tonight.” She made no move to get off of him, and he tried to stay as still as the stone they’d been leaning against, unwilling to allow his own anxious movement to be the thing that chased her away yet unsure of what to do next.

He gave a small nod, keeping space between them so he wouldn’t knock her helmet with his own. “Yeah,” he let out a careful breath, trying not to let it shake as her light touch continued to ignite his skin. “Me too.”

Her fingers spread wide against the back of his neck, pinky dipping daringly under his collar, and suddenly he felt himself tighten the arm he had around her, his hand curving over her shoulder. This… if she doesn’t want this she’ll- He focused on the horizontal slit of her visor, his heart beating behind his eyes as he found himself wondering what color hers were, and what they would look like if he could see her now, what she’d look like, wanting this.

Wanting me.

She tilted her head down, a tiny motion that he might not have even noticed if not for the way the firelight flickered in the reflection of her helmet. “And I’m,” she paused and he felt her shoulders and back expanded under his arm as she took a breath. “I’m glad I got to see it with you, Djarin.”

“Din.” Like the number six, his name leapt from his tongue before he could pull it back, and its release into the world left him feeling almost dizzy. That’s- I just...I shouldn’t have- He felt her freeze and stiffen, heard her shocked gasp, and knew he’d made a mistake. I shouldn’t have told her. She doesn’t...we’re- we aren’t-

“You...did you just-” She brought the hand that was still twined with his up between their bodies, resting them both against his chestplate. Something in the weight of them and the way they looked covering the carved ironheart symbol in the center, made him wonder if maybe it wasn’t a mistake. She’s still… she hasn’t moved. She didn’t get up or… The fingers of her other hand curled around the back of his neck, gripping him more tightly. “Djarin, is that your-”

“Yes.” He watched their hands rise on his chest as he took a deep breath, then glanced up at the place where he wished he could meet her eyes, finding only the smoky lens of her training visor. “My name.” Wished he had followed her lead and shed his gloves too, he ran his thumb along hers, pressing down. “It’s-”

“Din.” She whispered it back to him. Though the times he had heard his given name since swearing the Creed had been few, he knew that it had never sounded like that. Before he could fully appreciate the charged, electrified way that it made him feel, she was sending another jolt through his chest as she spoke again, lowering her forehead even closer to his. “Aashi.”

That’s her...She told me her n- He moved the hand he had on her shoulder to her back, flattening his palm over her spine as the charge ran through his bloodstream. Gulping down another breath, all attempts at keeping his reaction from her discarded, he pressed her closer. “Aashi.”

Until that moment he’d only known her by her house name, Zurn, and the clan signet that she’d painted on the dented steel plate that covered her left thigh. Two daggers. He never thought that the symbol fit her. It was perfect for her Buir, the woman more than proficient with blades. But she- Aashi, his heart flipped in place just thinking it- was just as skilled and dangerous without knives or vibroblades, maybe even more so without them. He’d known that from the very first day he’d met her, when he first referred to her only as buyca. And now I know her.

She closed the remaining space to let the curve of her helmet meet his with a soft but audible, tangible clink. “Kar'taylir, Din Djarin.”

He sighed out her name again as her fingers slid higher up beneath his helmet in his hair. And to think I was impressed with the stars.

That night, for the first time since coming to live among the Mandalorians, Din Djarin felt the press of lips to his bare skin as she sat behind him and lifted her own helmet just enough to kiss the back of his neck.

Kar’taylir, Aashi Zurn.

-- -- -- -- --

He noticed right away.

As he looked back over his shoulder, the tilt of her helmet was off. She was moving too slowly. A sudden chill gripped his chest making it hard to take a breath as he shoved his way back through the fray to get to her. No! Cyare! Another blast hit the wall of a nearby home that came crumbling down, and he knew that at her current pace she wouldn’t get out of the way in time. Launching himself at her, he caught her in his arms and rolled them both safely out of line of the debris, shielding her battered body with his own. He was extremely grateful that they had both just received their beskar helmets, knowing that the metal placeholders they trained in would do nothing to protect them in this situation.

But as he dragged her into an alley to safely assess her injuries, he saw that having the beskar wouldn’t matter. Not for her, not this time. No… No, Aashi… His hands shook as he placed them over the growing red bloom at her shoulder.

Aashi’s helmet, one pauldron and both thigh plates were pure Mandalorian beskar. The rest was just durasteel. Since the Great Purge beskar had been extremely hard to come by. The Armorer had to be discerning in her distribution of new pieces, oftentimes awarding warriors with beskar for achievements or special services for the Tribe. It was how he had also come to possess select pieces made of the precious material. Her wound though, was on the shoulder not encased in impenetrable armor. And he knew what that meant. She did, too.

Another year had passed since the night by the fire- a year that had kept them and the rest of their squadron busy in protecting their covert from the encroachment of Imperial violence. A year that had been spent deepening their bond not only as warriors but as partners. A year that made him certain that he was bound to her in all but ceremony.

“You h-have to go, Din.” Her voice was hoarse and thin, the modulator in her helmet doing little to hide the obvious agony she was in. He felt her weak grasp on his wrist as she tried to pull his attention from her bloodied shoulder to her face. “Din…” Hearing her speak his name in that tone broke him, and he dropped his head, letting her take his hand, letting her bleed slowly into oblivion.

“I won’t leave you.” He could hear how stubborn he sounded and he hated it. Hated that he couldn’t detach like he’d been trained to, hated that he would have to leave her, hated that he hadn’t been there to take the hit that she’d taken.

Using what little strength she still had, she brought her hand up behind his neck, fingers sliding slowly into his sweat slicked hair. He let out a shaky breath and realized his eyes were damp. “You could n-never leave me, cyare. You are a p-part of me, always.” She bent her fingers gently to nudge his helmet down to meet hers, and he placed both of his hands on the sides of her head. “B-but you have to...to warn the others. You n-need to… the covert. They need to…”

“Shh,” he silenced her, moving one hand down to mirror her touch, placing it on the back of her neck. “I know. I… I will.” He knew that she was right. He had to get back to the covert to help as many of the Tribe escape off planet to Nevarro as possible. He hadn’t gone through additional training, sworn additional oaths just to forsake it all to die in this ally with her and let the rest of the Tribe suffer the same fate. “I will.”

“Kar’taylir, Din Djarin…” She managed once more to tell him what he’d felt for so long, and then he felt her go limp, felt his heart stop, felt the world dim.

She was gone.

No. He shook his head, banishing the heartache that threatened to claim him. No. Not gone. She could never be gone. Like she told him, he was a part of her. And she was a part of him. She would be, always.

Leaving her there was the hardest trial he’d ever undergone, but there was nothing more he could do for her, and he refused to let her death be for nothing. He pushed himself back up and ran back to the covert, alerting who he could and helping as many to safety as possible.

It wasn’t until night fell three days later on Dantooine that he allowed himself to finally feel the cuts, the breaks in his heart. He had stayed behind with the rest of the elite squadron until all of the Tribe’s members were accounted for, either fallen or fled to Nevarro. Only he, Hast, Vizsla and a handful of others remained on the planet, and would be leaving in the morning never to return.

He’d spent that day solemnly traveling to the place of their first mission together, to the outcropping of rock where they’d hidden from the rebels and bared their souls to one another. When he arrived there, he felt her, as though some part of her presence had stayed there that night. He thought a part of himself must have, too. Silently, he knelt down and took the blade from its sheath on his boot. Kaysh meg miit'gaana, oyacyi. The act of writing, even something that was unlikely to be read, even something that only he knew existed, was an act of commitment. Though Mandalorians were not known for making monuments to the dead, remembrance was of personal importance to all who swore the Creed. Placing his other hand on the cool stone, he brought the sharp edge to the rock face and began carving into it. One symbol, then the next, etching the lines until all five were legible. He didn’t know how long it took, but when it was done he knew how long it would last.

“Kar’taylir, Aashi Zurn. Darasuum.”

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spc4eva · 4 years ago

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Mandokar: Chapter Two

Summary: Clan Vizsla returns to the Tribe and Senaar settles into her new life.

Word Count: 15,125

Author Notes: Just some more info about the Anaxian race that I've created!

An offshoot of the Sephi race, removed by generations of evolution based on Anaxes' climate. Appearance: Humanoid, sub-human, differentiated by long pointed ears (longer than most Sephi) which are hyper sensitive to the forests that they dwell in. Skin tends to be tan to dark, though there are a few fairer skinned Anaxians. Sunlight is powerful, despite the forest, which is why the melanin in their skin tends to be strong to act as a buffer when they leave the woods or are in glades. Eye hues range in earth tones, mostly brown, but a few are green. Gold is another color, while a bit rare and considered blessed amongst the people. Royalty almost always has the golden eyes. Hair color is also dark, from jet black to medium brown. Blonde, red, and light brown hair is almost unheard of and incredibly unnatural amongst Anaxians. On average, they get to the same height as humans, but tend to be more slender and willowy. Anaxians eyes work well for the dim lighting of the forest acolves and long nights. They have the ability to see in little to no light, but not utter darkness. Due to their lighter bone structures, Anaxians are quicker and more agile than other races, making for spectacular warriors should they have the inclination. Light footed from years of hunting in their forests, they are exceptionally gifted with stealth and able to fight with acrobatic feats. Despite these abilities, Anaxians have the drawbacks of being more frail than other humanoid races. For their speed and stealth, they are more easily overwhelmed by strength.

Goddess Marks/Tears: markings on the skin of Anaxians which are similar to beauty marks. Rather than be dark, these marks are the size of tears and shaped the same. Sometimes they are also referred to as petals. Each mark is gold, humming with a shimmering iridescence which is contrasted by an Anaxian's dark complexion. Most Anaxians have between 5-10 marks, though those descended of purer bloodline - ie. nobles or royalty - often have more. They are not tattoos and are on an Anaxian from birth. Those that possess a lot of them are considered 'Chosen' by the Goddess, especially if the marks play out in a more purposeful manner than just sporadic petals against the skin, placed randomly. Some Anaxians get more tattooed on them in an attempt to seem more special and it's not uncommon. However, the tattoos don't have the same glow as the natural marks. Often Anaxians will use the tattoos to link their marks together in designs.

Note: Anaxians are not long lived like Sephis. They live 80-100 standard years on average. Anaxians do not reach sexual maturity until 20 years old, taking a little longer to grow through their adolescence into adult bodies.

Anaxians are also not well traveled. They don't like to leave their home planet often. Pure Sephis often call them forest bumpkins, so there's a little love lost between the similar races.

Most of Anaxian culture was inspired by wood elves from Lord of the Rings with a mixture of Celtic heritage.

Inspiration photo for Anaxians (and Sena specifically) is this

Crossposted on AO3

The helmet was more comfortable with the padding, but she wasn't forced to wear it much around the ship with her aliit. Senaar Vizsla. She repeated it numerous times in her head, staring at the ceiling as she cocooned herself in a pile of blankets on the floor. Hux, her buir now, told her not to dwell too deeply on what had happened on Anaxes. He'd said that nothing could be done and carrying that in her heart would just hurt. When she asked about her papa, he explained that he was marching far away, but one day she'd see him again. He taught her the prayer to say every night before bed and that more names would join her papa's, but it was her duty to remember them and love them. Sena was fully committed to becoming Mandalorian, even if she was a bit nervous and frightened by the shock of everything that had happened. Be strong. Papa would be watching and she had to make him proud... buir and ori'vod too.

" Sen'ika ," Paz entreated, drawing her attention as she leered at the ceiling of the ship, hiding in her blankets as if it were a toasty little garrison. Hyperspace was cold, much colder than most of Anaxes' yearly climate. "Come sit over here."

Dragging her blankets with her, helmet nestled against her tummy, she sat beside Paz and eyed what he was working on. Set in front of him was the rifle he had used during their escape from Genmaris. Now, it was in several pieces, he had a cloth and swatches of cotton, many of which were stained with blaster residue. He was cleaning the weapon.

"Have you ever taken one apart before?" Paz inquired lightly, gazing down at her with icy blue eyes. Despite how shockingly pale his eyes were, they were still kind and warm. He had short blonde hair, messy from his helmet, and was probably not much older than her despite his height and fitness.

"I know how to take the slide off of my pistol, but I've never taken it apart like this," Sena admitted, cheeks burning as she wondered if she was severely behind in her knowledge. What if the other children made fun of her? What if she was stupider than kids a lot younger than her? Would her buir disown her? Take the helmet back and tell her to get out?

"Most firearms are the same aside from the coils in buttstocks of rifles and shotguns," Paz eased, sensing the girl's worry. "You will need to know not only how to fire your weapons, but how to clean them and assess any issues you may have while firing. Weapons are our religion, so we must take good care of them to protect our people. Now, let's begin-"

Paz showed her the various pieces of the rifle, the charging handle, the bolt, where cartridges were loading. There were bits of information that were familiar, as there was some overlap from what she knew about her pistol. Having her hands on it, manipulating the pieces, putting them together and taking them apart - everything clicked rather swiftly. The visual and physical method of learning, rather than out of a holobook, took repetition and application. The distraction was greatly appreciated and Sena was keen to prove that she was a quick learner.

They moved onto a blaster, Hux dropping down from the cockpit, cocking his head as Sena cleaned the weapon. "I thought I told you to clean them," he said, directing his attention toward Paz.

"I can help!" Sena insisted quickly, before Paz even had the chance to offer.

"I thought she should begin her lessons," her vod retorted, stiffening under the tart gaze of their buir .

"Teach yes, but don't let her do all the work. I assigned you this task," Hux reminded him duly, looking to Sena next, who jolted erect under his pale gaze. "Let your ori'vod finish the rest. Come along, there are many things you need to learn, ad'ika."

More distractions. Scampering up from her blankets, she followed her buir deeper into the ship and away from Paz as he was left by the armory. This part of the Kote was filled with weights, a pull up bar, a sparring dummy, thick padded mats, and other work out items. " Buyca ." Bucket.

Sena slipped it back on and fiddled with her belt, making certain that her belt was tight enough to keep the extra material from her clothes from tripping her up.

"I am going to test your strength and endurance levels," Hux alerted her. "I know that you had some training in combat."

"A little," Sena confirmed, but knew her knowledge certainly quailed in comparison to Mandalorian standard.

Hux began prattling off exercises. He started with pushups, which weren't too hard. Sena was tiny and her limbs short. She ran around through the woods often and handled her own body weight. Capable of pushups and a few weak pull ups, she hung upside down from the bar like a monkey, braid swaying behind her as her buir remarked quietly to himself. Apparently, she was not too bad off, her excursions outside of the castle leaning well with her heritage as an Anaxian. Small, compact, ready to spring like a viper; she was putty to be molded. Her hands had callouses from where she'd climbed trees, tearing the soft palms and pads. Her feet were rough from trolloping barefoot, which would ease the pain of wearing boots and the callouses that would form on top of her soles.

And the girl could run. Around the drill shed floor, without reprieve, puffing out of her vocoder and using the boxes as obstacles. The original doubt that Hux had about taking a princess in was vanishing. Even if she might feel a little out of place amongst the Mandalorians due to her upbringing, Ardryll had not lied about her being well suited for training. The right disposition could be developed and she still had many years ahead of her before she would become a hunter. Most of all, the girl was eager to prove herself, hanging onto every word that came out of Hux's vocoder, the analyzer picking up the earnesty and excitement in her voice.

They had five more days on the ship before they were to touch down on Vorpa'ya and rejoin the Tribe. Even if the child was tired, she got up early and helped out as much as she could. It was plain she didn't know how to do many mundane tasks, given that servants had done this for her during the course of her short life. The Vizslas were patient with her, having to teach her how to turn a burner on, how to properly fold her clothes, how to wash them, how to tidy up after herself, how to be more considerate of those she was sharing space with. Hux was thankful they had the ship to do this on, glaringly aware that the girl would be tossed right into training with peers of a similar age and set before the Council before the Tribe welcomed her.

Hux's nerves faded, glancing fondly over in the direction of the plum helmet as the child bent over with his son, trying to stitch together where they had cut up her shirt in an attempt to take it in so it wasn't so baggy. Her fingers quaked and she gasped again, pricking her thumb for the umpteenth time. Despite fussing at his son before, Paz took to the girl like a womp rat to filth and was thrilled to have someone to take under his wing. It was difficult not to and Hux grudgingly admitted that to himself often at the kid's heart. She didn't give up. Settling back in his spot by the table, he wondered what Sova would have thought of the girl.

She would have loved her, he reasoned silently. Anaxes was gone. Having turned the news on in the cockpit long enough to hear about the sweeping of the Empire through the galaxy, his insides had gone cold when he saw the information regarding Anaxes. After resisting the Empire, there was a reactor failure in one of the shipyards that detonated a stockpile of hypermatter. Whether this was accidental or the locals had decided that they wouldn't allow for Anaxes to be used as a pivotal anchor point, Hux could only speculate. All that remained of the planet was an asteroid belt, wiping away the beautiful forests that Genmaris had been tucked along. As far as anyone was concerned, the Anaxian princess had been on the planet during the cataclysm.

Her anonymity was more important now. Her long ears and Goddess Tears would be easily recognizable.

Damn Jetii, you knew. You knew all along what was coming and how she'd have to be hidden , Hux cursed. Originally, he had been vexed by the arrangement, held by his debt to the Jedi. Take a princess and make her Mandalorian? He'd scoffed at the idea, but knew in his heart he couldn't abandon a child to an abysmal fate. There had been many others who had likely died on Anaxes, but Hux couldn't have saved them all. At least one would live to have a family and he could have a hand in raising her. Paz had already detailed that the little bird had attacked a trooper like a rabid massiff, flying out from the shadows and puncturing the small exposed bit of his throat. While still clumsy, the girl had managed to buy Paz time and kill the soldier. Potential . The girl had a lot of potential.

That potential was shadowed by her naiveness, but she'd grow wiser with age.

"I look lumpy," Sena had her shirt on, the poor stitching bunching up around her midsection and zigzagging where she'd not kept the line straight.

"Could use some work," Paz admitted honestly, pinching at the fabric to attempt to tug the bundling seams down. "Don't worry, there will be clothes that fit you amongst the Tribe. You'll also get some leather beskar'gam , which we'll put the jai'galaar eyes on."

Jai'galaar eyes or shriek-hawk eyes were the original clan sigil of the Vizslas. It had been used for the Death Watch in the more recent years, disparaged and spat upon by many other Mandalorians for the Sith that Hux's brother Pre had unleashed on their home world. Originally, Hux had helped try to retake Mandalore, before realizing how wrong he had been about forcing the Resol'nare on people who wanted to live peacefully. His own commitment did not circumvent how sacred he held the lives of Mandalorians, even if they were considered dar'manda . Pre had not agreed, saying that the dar'manda would submit or die.

After being spared by the Jetii , Arydryll, he removed the blue and white paint of the Death Watch and returned home to his son, uprooting their life and moving amongst the Tribe where they were accepted with open arms under the condition that they did not remove their helmets. This dedication to the Resol'nare attracted him; the ideal lifestyle he had hoped for all of Mandalore. Yet, he knew their little covert was one of few and he cherished what they had found. Here, he could live as he wished, but without forcing it on those who did not possess the same dedication to the Resol'nare. Hux did not want glory or to partake in the fight against the Empire, he desperately wanted peace. Here, Paz would be able to learn and supply for his people. There were always threats, as being Mandalorian came with its own clauses, but the covert had escape plans if the need for relocation arose.

" Sen'ika , go work on your combat drills on the practice shed floor," Hux thrummed eventually as the girl continued to fiddle with her awkwardly sewn clothes.

"Yes, buir ," she answered obediently, trotting off without needing to be asked again.

Paz tilted his helmet, staring over at his father. Questioning.

Once the child was safely out of earshot, he let out a low sigh. "We will be landing soon and you know what'll happen. The Council will want to meet her and then introduce her to the Tribe," the man started, earning a nod of comprehension. "We will not be telling them where she is from."

"We are going to lie to the Tribe?" Paz asked, voice hitching in disdain.

"No, we are going to omit information. The less people that know who she was and where she is from means the Tribe shall be safer. Anaxes is nothing but rubble and asteroids. No one shall see her face aside from us until she marries and by that point, no one will be looking for her. Until then, it is for the Tribe's best interest that we are as nondescript as possible in regards to her heritage."

"Understood... Have you discussed this with, vod'ika ?"

"Yes, she fully comprehends the importance of being ambiguous with the Tribe. As far as they know, she's from Naboo."

"A little Naboo child who can jump and do acrobats better than the rest of them?" Paz pointed out, harping upon the natural gifts lended to her from being Anaxian.

"It explains her accent and education. They will not start her training out too difficult, as they'll want to test her to get a better idea of what age group to place her with. She still has a lot to learn in order to be as well prepared as others her age."

"Hm," Paz hummed in disagreement. "Maybe in Mando'a and hand to hand combat, but she knows how to hold her own. The others will come quickly enough."

"Keep a close eye on her. There will be an adjustment period, even if she is doing well with just the both of us," Hux warned. In the privacy of the Kote , she felt comfortable with her new clan. Amongst the Tribe, she'd be faced with unfamiliar helms, various trials, and an entirely new setting. He worried how she would react, that the comforting embrace of the ship being ripped away from her might cause her to falter. It was all she had come to know after leaving her home world and acknowledging her past life was dead. Even the most resilient children needed time to recover and whilst she was putting on a brave face, it would only take one misstep for her emotions to finally catch up with the swift pace she had set. Hux was expecting a breakdown of enormous proportions in the coming days.

"Of course, she's my vod'ika . I'll not let anything happen to her," Paz swore, the oath so deep and intended that Hux smiled. This was the Way.

Vorpa'ya was coated in lolling hills rustling with tall green grass. Not a tree in sight, the plains spreading onward, and the sun pelting down across the landscape to catch the glimmering shift of the wind through the grass. So open and exposed, so strange and unfamiliar as large brown herbivores meandered the grass. They had four pronged horns that cradled their faces, mooing quietly as they gnawed on the vegetation and trotted along. Despite the sun's glare, the temperature was mild and the wind chased away any discomfort the sun's smile might provide.

Dome shaped homes littered the largest hill, cresting upon it like little green dimples. The steel had been thatched with grass, which grew tall and swooned in the wind. From above, the houses would be impossible to discern from the rest of the rolling land of Vorpa'ya. Between the homes, the people milled around - the Tribe. Beskar helmets painted in various hues, visors shifting between T and Y-shaped, and daily life gliding forward, seemingly untouched by the war that ravaged the galaxy. The people were not ignorant to it, as each Mandalorian donned at least three weapons a piece, the hunters even more, but they were careful, meticulous, and on guard. Any day, their little village could be disrupted and they were prepared to fight and escort the children far away to relocate the covert.

Following awkwardly between Paz and Hux, Sena's head swiveled around. Visors tilted toward her, noticing the new bucket amongst their Tribe, and greeted her aliit in kind with, " Su cuy'gar " and " Su'cuy " from a few very small children who did not wear helmets. Even if this was not the comforting forest, Sena's heart burned in her chest, warmed by the atmosphere, and she smiled stupidly beneath her helmet as she offered a few little waves to children running underfoot. Some attacked Paz, forcing the trio to stop as a child collided with her shins.

"Hello," Sena chimed, looking down into the bright blue eyes of a twi'lek boy.

"You're new! Who're you? I like your bucket. It's a pretty color," the boy was no more than five and tugging at her trousers.

"My name is Senaar," she bent down toward the grabby hands and picked him up, a little surprised by how much he weighed. She'd already committed, so she huffed him up onto her hip and let him tug lightly on her long, black braid. "What's your name?"

"Zim!" he squealed, palming her helmet and pushing his brow against hers. Sena knew that this was a keldable kiss and was exchanged between family and lovers, but didn't know what to do when a child was doing that to her. The big blue eyes opened, pinning her reproachfully, and he butted her more forcefully - demanding reciprocation.

"Bonk," Sena muttered, offering him a small headbutt.

Zim giggled delightedly.

"Run along now, ade. Lalli is undoubtedly looking for you little womp rats," Hux scolded, but there was no spice or menace in his voice.

" Sen'ori , come play with us later?" Zim asked quickly, knowing the moments he had with her were numbered to the second.

"Uhm," she was bending down to put Zim back on his feet. "If it's allowed..."

Paz gave her a reassuring pat on the back. "I can show you the town and nursery later," he told her, Zim galloping off with the other younglings before they were allowed to continue their passage amongst the covert. "Do you have a lot of experience with children?"

Her cheeks burned and she shook her head. "Not really. There weren't that many kids around... there. And if there were I wasn't really allowed near them. Not because I'd get in trouble, but mostly just social standards. No little cousins or anything like that."

The nicest thing about this village was that there were so many people to talk to, to not treat her like a princess, and estrange her due to her status. People always dreamed about being a princess, but most of her friends had been written in the pages of books. Everyone in Genmaris had been wary about offending her, even though Sena tried not to come off as rude or cold. Just the brush with the children made her ecstatic, because she'd never experienced anything like it. Little Zim had forced himself into her arms and stolen two keldable kisses and he barely knew her. What would everyone else be like?

"You'll get the hang of it. Zim was rather taken with you," Paz assured her.

"I hope so. If we have time, I think I would like to go to the nursery," Sena insisted, licking her dry lips beneath her helmet as they approached the largest domed structure, which was located at the epicenter of the camp. Two grand doors were propped open, leading into a cavernous room that pelted warmth. Situated in the center was a circular hearth where pale white blue flames lanced up the rim, stabbing up like daggers toward a range hanging from the ceiling that filtered any smoke and helped contain the immense heat that wafted from the fire. Seats were arranged against the wall, curving into the structure in the form of benches, where dozens of adults could sit around the forge.

Dozens were not there now, only a few. Immediately, her eyes sought out the most imposing of the crowd, a broad Mandalorian in soot black painted armor. He had a hammer in his hand, pausing to watch them carefully, his visor framed by white so that it was distinguishable from the darkness of the rest of the armor. On the other side of the forge was a female with a golden helmet, who appeared to be helping him, the crown fringed with short horns.

"I have not seen that helmet in a long time," the black-painted Mandalorian declared in a deep, resonating voice that echoed throughout the hall like ocean waves crashing against a rocky coastline. "A Foundling, Vizsla?"

" Elek , Smith," her buir stepped forward, brushing his hand along her shoulder and bringing her forth with him. "Senaar."

Uncertain of what to do, since she was no longer a princess, she simply stood there stiffly. Her helmet wasn't reading the Smith's voice very well, coming up as unknown.

"She is Mandalorian?" the Smith inquired, cocking his head slightly.

Sena was getting better at reading body language. Despite the fact she had seen Paz and Hux's faces, they tended to still move around as if they were wearing their helmets. Body language spoke volumes and the questioning turn of a helmet was already ingrained in her brain. She still had to learn the other nuances.

" Cin vhetin ," Hux offered simply. "I have renamed her."

"Welcome to the Tribe, Senaar of Clan Vizsla," the Smith greeted, visor skimming over her frame. "It appears you are in dire need of proper attire. Armorer, could you please assist in getting our new vod outfitted?"

The golden helmeted female stepped forward, bending down slightly to lift Sena's arms and take a few measurements. Her fingers picked at the atrocious stitching that Sena had managed and she murmured quietly to herself. "I should have things that fit you, vod . Come along."

Despite the encouragement from the young woman, she threw her head toward her buir , who gave her a nod. Allowed to follow the Armorer, they entered a back room in the hall. Considerably smaller, but chocked full of supplies to include various ingots of steel, most of durasteel, some of beskar, cloaks, boots, trousers, shirts. This was a supply closet, most of the attire dark and earth toned. A warrior's armor was where their personality was displayed in the colors in which they chose to paint it. She noticed that the Armorer's bucket was not painted, but shimmered gold. Sena wondered what color was beneath hers, but hadn't thought to touch the plum paint.

Pulling a few tops out, the Armorer decided which size would work best and began to create a pile for Sena. Boots, socks, underwear, and gloves were added to the ensemble. Finally, she pulled a few leather vests out, tightening it around Sena's frame to make certain it fit.

"This will be your armor until you can hunt and earn your own," the Armorer explained, adding leather vambraces and leg pads. "Get changed up and I will show you how to adorn them."

Sena was worried that the Armorer would wait nearby, but the female was discreet and stepped out of the supply closet to let Sena change in privacy. Discarding her frumpy, borrowed attire, she swapped it for clothing that fit much better. The pants were a little long still, but at least they didn't require a belt to keep up. The fabric was dark brown like dirt, the neckline curving up to hide her throat entirely. With gloves, knee high boots, a belt, with pouches - she stood there awkwardly trying to figure out what to do with the cuirass.

"Armorer?" she called tentatively, the gold helmet popping back in the doorway at the sound of her name.

"See these here?" the Armorer touched her gloves to the loops on the suit she was now wearing. "The armor attached to these points. Let's begin with the cuisse and greaves," sitting her down on the bench, she began strapping up the leather pads over her thighs and against her shins. "The cuirass or heartplate straps in on its own. Since it is not steel, it'll be a little tighter than beskar. Next, we have your vambraces, which will act as a point of defense. This is the first item you should craft of beskar," she tied the laced, the leather polished, but missing any of the tiny buttons that Hux had on his. "And your pauldrons will be where your clan sigil is displayed. For Vizslas, that is the shriek-hawk eyes."

" Ori'vod said he would help me paint it. Am I allowed to paint the leather? I don't want to get in trouble-" Sena's fretfulness caused her to begin babbling much too quickly, earning a light chuckle from the Armorer.

"The armor is yours now. You are allowed to paint it, though leather does not hold the paint as well as steel. During your training is it very likely to chip and peel," the Armorer informed her kindly. "But you should add the shriek-hawk eyes."

Sena wagged her head in agreement, thanking the Armorer before picking up her bundle of clothes and her extra set of boots. Hugging the supplies to her chest, she trundled out of the supply room to see a few other Mandalorians poking around. People had wandered into the hall. Immediately, they looked toward her, causing her to freeze where she stood and drop a boot. The sole colliding with the ground echoed throughout the cavernous hall and interrupted all conversation. Sena wanted to faint, shaking like a leaf.

Bending down, she battled with the edge of the boot before managing to snag it and toss it back on top of her pile. All but running over to Paz, she tucked toward his side and glanced around anxiously. Sena wasn't shy, but she'd also never seen Mandalorians before the Vizslas and now she was in an entire village of them. On top of that, she wanted to impress them and not make them regret taking her in. The sheer weight of wanting to be as good as possible made her quiver anxiously a bit. Being a princess wouldn't win her any brownie points and as far as they knew, she was from Naboo.

"Much better," Paz said, looking down at her new clothes and armor. "A full Mandalorian now, vod'ika -" he elbowed her lightly, nearly sending all her belongings flying from her hands. "The Elders want to meet you. Let me hold these for you and then we'll get the chance to drop them off at home."

Elders? They sounded mighty important. Sena swallowed the impossibly large lump in her throat and gave Paz a mute nod, passing over her supplies. She gave herself a minor pep talk, rationalizing that this couldn't be anymore intimidating than the vipers in the court. Even if she was unable to see their faces, at least they'd all been rather cordial with her until this point. Direct, straightforward, no beating around the bush. It was so unlike the climate she was accustomed to and while she liked it, she felt woefully ill prepared. Being guarded was so much easier, as was not taking most people at their word.

Arranged in the seats nearest to the forge was a council of seven - to include the Smith who sat amongst them. Most of the members had on armor, though there were two Elders, so old and fragile looking, that they did not don any armor. One was a woman who looked like a shriveled up prune, her skin hanging around her face so loose that it was difficult to tell if there were scars amongst her riddled countenance. Dark brown eyes perceived her, lancing right into her own, despite the visor that obscured Sena's.

The patriarch had a kinder expression, his face not resembling a crinkled up tissue. His skin was dark, sagging pale brows over wise irises. Braids of snow rain down his scalp and around his shoulders, a pink scar dragged along his left cheek like a bolt of lightning on a blackened field.

Four others; a female in cyan armor, a male in orange, a male in crimson, and a male in blue and white. Each one had various markings, designs, and spots differentiating their beskar. From the years of wearing the beskar, there were gouges, scratches, and marks that they wore proudly. Vambraces varied, as did weapons, and despite the fact that people said that all Mandos were the same, modulated bucketheads, Sena saw a huge difference between each of them. Not just because of their varying colors, but the manner in which they had painted designs, or highlighted the scratches with paint to make the scars pop, or the variance in design of the cuirasses as the style had improved over the years.

"Senaar of Clan Vizsla," the patriarch had a husky voice, so deep that it sounded as if it had been dredged out of the depths of Trask's oceans. "The Tribe welcomes you as our newest addition. My name is Rhenx and I am the Alor of the Tribe."

Alor sounded important, but in her nervousness, she couldn't recall if her buir had told her what it meant. "The pleasure is mine, Alor ," she retorted, still a bit too quickly, but was thankful her voice didn't fail her. The least her courtesy training could do for her was not make her sound like an idiot in front of the most important people in the Tribe. They were judging her at that moment, she was certain of it.

Rhenx gave an encouraging smile with pooled heat in her tummy and eased her shoulders. "Polite. Perhaps you could teach your aliit some manners,” he remarked, drawing a few laughs from the Elders flanking him. “Tell me, vod , what is your ambition?”

This was a question she had not been prepped for, the helmet heavy on her head as she tilted slightly to the side and considered him for a moment. Better to think than to spew nonsense. “To have a home and family. To belong ,” the answer was simple and yet it was all she could hope for now that her papa was gone. She’d not have many friends before and she hoped that she could change that here.

“Not of great prowess? To be the best hunter?” Rhenx mused, his questions making her heart thump in her chest as if she were a rabbit being eyed by a wolf.

Had she chosen the wrong words? Shuddering a breath slightly, she knew she couldn’t rescind them without looking stupid. “That too, but those come after,” she retorted, cheeks heated beneath her helmet, thankful for the mask to hide her abysmal expression.

Rhenx bellowed a laugh, making her jump. “Where did you find this one, Vizsla?”

“Naboo.”

Devoting his attention back to her, Rhenx offered another obliging look. “You have had a long journey, vod. We look forward to seeing you excel here. The Tribe is now your family, we take care of one another, protect one another. You will learn our ways and one day provide as your buir provides for you.”

Out of habit and because it felt natural, Sena bowed her head respectfully and took her leave. She couldn’t get beside Paz quickly enough, feet hastened and heart beating erratically until they had left the pressure of the hall. While the meeting with the Elders had gone much more easily than she had been expecting, she had a feeling that they’d be watching for the days to come. Until this point in her life, there had been little expectations of Sena other than to sometimes be at the right place at the right time. Taking advantage as a princess, she’d been able to shirk many duties and get away with mistakes that normal people would have been reprimanded for. There was a tiny bit of regiment in her from the little combat training she did have, but drawing upon her week on the Kote she knew that laziness and indignance would not be tolerated. Even if she was only 13, Sena was not stupid. Her frivolous years until this point were just that; until this point.

Tingling like bad food in the pit of her tummy, she considered what might happen. Part of her was fretful that she wouldn’t fit in and that she’d be detrimentally behind the others. Not in academics, because she’d studied with tutors, but in combat. They literally breathed blaster smoke like oxygen.

“You’re quiet, vod’ika ,” Paz observed as they continued to bask in the glow of the sun, heading to the edge of the town. She saw a few of the cattle grazing in the distance, otherwise just an empty landscape that seemed as if it could fall into the sky. Despite having found it pretty before, Sena was suddenly anxious at how open and scarce it was. Nowhere to hide. No shadows. Just open. “Are you alright?”

“Nervous,” Sena admitted quietly, tearing her eyes away from the moors as they paused in front of a house.

“You did well. If Rhenx likes you then there’s little to worry about,” he assured her, punching the code into the door: 568768. Hissing open, he allowed her in first.

“But I didn’t do or say much,” she pointed out, stepping down into the main dwelling area or karyai . The large chamber was not only the kitchen, but the den, dining area, and communal resting area. She noticed to the flanks of the karyai that there were doors to other rooms, assuming that these were bedrooms and a fresher.

“You weren’t a blubbering mess and you were concise and honest,” Paz countered, shutting the door and ripping his helmet off. Running fingers through his helmet curls, he cocked a smile at her that took the edge off her anxiety. “The rest you’ll have to prove, but you showed tenacity today. Seems your princess training helped a bit.”

“I felt like a blubbering mess.” She still did, clinging desperately to her clothes as if they were her last semblance of sanity. Everything was so glaringly real now. On the ship, she’d been toiling through hyperspace and with the idea of the Tribe. In theory, it all sounded magnificent. In reality, she was terrified of letting the aliit down or the rest of the Tribe. There had been moments in her life where she worried about letting papa down, but she’d never cared much for what others in the court thought of her. They had never been this close of a community. Sena expected if she made one slip up the entire village would know and talk about her behind her back. Call her a dope or an idiot.

“See, this is why I’m glad I only have one brain cell. You’re thinking too much, Sen’ika .”

She jolted, turning her head to look at her vod and let out a pitiful whine. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“Were you ever this worried when you were a princess?”

She shook her head.

“Being a princess seems a lot more difficult. Just be yourself… minus the royalty thing, but you catch my drift,” Paz gave her a small pep talk, bending down to affectionately butt heads with her helmet. “Come around here. The guest room is yours now. There’s not much in it, but you can make it your own-” he pressed a hand into her back and began guiding her across the karyai and toward the first door on the left. “We can set up your own code too. Buir likes to snoop.”

They deliberated quietly on a code for the door before Paz set it. It didn’t strike Sena that he also knew her code, but she didn’t mind either way. What did she really need to lock her door for when she was amongst a village of Mandalorians? Just as he’d claimed, the room was nondescript. Decorated simply with a full bed, a dresser, a single night stand with an alarm clock, and a closet. There was a window which gazed out on the fields. The room itself was the size of a powder room in Genmaris Castle and lacked all the refinement and grace of her old chambers. No wood, no warmth from the shimmersilk drapes, nor the stash of holobooks or paperbacks. Putting her belongings on the quilted comforter, she reached up and pulled her helmet off, thankful to finally be able to smell and feel the atmosphere on her face.

“The windows are shaded, so no one can see in,” Paz gestured to the glass. “Class begins at 0500 every morning except weekends. For you, that’ll be at the Junction House. Physical training starts the day, then academia, followed by a changing schedule of marksmanship, weapons courses, and other specialized courses like reconnaissance, basic medical, starship lessons… There’s a lot to list, but it’ll be handed to you piece by piece. Tomorrow you’ll get a holocard with the schedule as it changes week to week. Days end at 1500, with the exception of specialty lessons you might have once or twice a month. After end of day, you’re allowed to do what you want. Some people continue training, some people slack off, others help around the village… Ah, and there’s a Foundling shift roster. Once a week you’ll be tasked with watching the ade . But you’re always allowed to go more if you want.”

Sena listened, nodding as she thought of the other children she’d known who had gone to boarding school. The regiment and timelines seemed similar to that, though the classes being offered here sounded way more exciting. “What do you do after classes?”

“I don’t have as many classes anymore, since I’m older and just completed my First Trial. When you’re 16 you’ll also attempt your Trial if you’re ready,” Paz revealed.

“ 16 ,” Sena gasped in horror. “That’s only 3 cycles away!”

“The Tribe will not make you do your Trial if you’re not ready,” Paz placated, but it had the opposite effect.

“Then I’ll look like an idiot ,” Sena balked.

“You better train hard then. No more running off in the woods, shirking your duties,” he smarted, making her frown.

“There’s not even any forests to explore,” she pointed out disdainfully.

“Good thing. Less distractions,” he grinned, turning back toward the door. “Put your things away and then we’ll go check out the village. Maybe you’ll even get to meet some of your vod before tomorrow.”

Giving her the first real private moment since leaving Anaxes, she sat on the edge of the bed and palmed her eyes. This was life now. A mundane room, no books, no friends, and no clue on how to do anything. That had been obvious on the ship when she’d not realized that there wasn’t a magical clothing fairy who picks up after her. Or that she actually had to make food when she was hungry and not just ask for it. Or that people didn’t like when you were a little messy. Drawing in a shaky breath, she stood up and began putting her clothes away. A new beginning. She really had to give it a try and put her heart into it, because otherwise she had nothing else. Here, she would learn life skills; how to defend herself, to supply for others, to feel a part of a community, and to build a life. Until this point in her life, Sena had never really thought much of the future aside from what she didn’t want to do, like marry Rathas. Each stride was taken day by day and her ambitions were nothing more than mischievous fun to be had around the castle.

Was she upset by the guidance? No, she wasn’t, but it still made her hands shake. There was no papa to defend her choices, to wash away any bad she might’ve done. Hux had already told her that she had to own up to what she did, even if she made a mistake. Honesty was paramount.

After putting her belongings away, she picked her helmet back up and went out into the karyai . Paz held up a piece of… dessert? She didn’t know what it was other than it was layered densely, flat, and appeared to have nuts and fruit in it. “ Uj’alayi ,” he told her, offering her a piece as he scarfed his own down.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d not eaten much since getting off the ship and they’d been eating rations. Real food was such a comforting sight that Sena nearly cried. Biting her tongue to keep herself from being dumbly emotional over cake, she picked up the sticky pastry and enjoyed the sweetness, the syrup, and the kick of spices that warmed her palate and hummed in the back of her throat. The uj’alayi was amazing. However, her gloves were now coated in stickiness. Big eyes turned toward Paz, he chortled as he washed down his cake with water.

“Wash your hands,” he reminded her, as if it were so obvious - which it was - but she hadn’t thought of it just standing there like a dope.

Coming around the counter, she scrubbed her gloves free of the syrup and picked her helmet up from where she’d set it down. “Do we get to eat that everyday?”

“Our teeth would rot right out of our heads,” Paz chortled. “ Uj’alayi is a treat. Bhone delivered this to us - the Elder in the cyan armor.”

“Oh, that was very nice,” Sena remarked, slightly disappointed that the cake was not a part of everyday cuisine. If she were still a princess, she could demand that it was. Here, she’d just look like a petulant brat. “How would I say thank you? Do I send a gift back or-”

“You could just thank her next time you see her. You’d really impress her if you said it in Mando’a. ‘ Vor’e’ would work.”

“ Vor’e ,” she repeated quietly, hoping that Paz hadn’t just told her how to say something rude to the Elder, but knew she had to trust in his guidance. He was one of few people she was somewhat familiar with around these parts and one of even fewer whose face she could see. Taking in a deep breath, filling up her diaphragm as much as she could muster, she turned her eyes to Paz. “Alright! Let’s go do things. Now it’s your turn to show me around.”

“The village isn’t half as large as Genmaris and you knew that place better than the back of your hand. Won’t take too long and then we can stop by the Nursery,” Paz picked up his bucket and slid it back on.

Donning hers, they went back out into the village where Paz escorted her past the huts and toward the big hall that they’d entered first. That was the Foundry - the important place where all the Tribe gathered and also where armor was forged. Radiating out in a spiral where the other important buildings, which were larger than the residential homes. These included the Junction House, the School, and the Nursery - where all the children to teenagers would spend their time during typical academic hours. The Den was where the hunters met up, dropped off what they’d earned, and had a few drinks time willing. The Cache was another supply location, but it was mostly groceries and miscellaneous housing items. There was also a small mechanical hut with spare parts for the few ships the Tribe had and Med-Deck where the doctor lived. Otherwise, training that did not occur in any of the aforementioned locations were done out in the fields surrounding the village.

Circling back around to the Nursery, they spent a little time with the children before dinner, the tykes throwing themselves at her when they found out that Ori’vod Paz now had a sister of his own, leading them to assume that she’d be just as fun and amazing as him. The expectations made her a little dizzy, unable to heft the kids quite like Paz could, but she did manage to tumble on the floor with a few of them. Zim had all but claimed her as his own, demanding headbutts every spare second she had to breathe. So, for those brief couple of hours, she forgot about how nervous she was about her first day of school and meeting the other kids her age. According to Paz, her class was aged from 10-14.

When they returned home, Hux already had food ready on the table, looking at them expectantly as gloves were removed and hands were washed. Plated before her was an orange-red curry, the spices making the hairs in her nose curl. The meat and sauce was piled on top of a grain. Since she was hungry, she began spooning it into her mouth, immediately regretting what she had done as her tongue went taut and began to burn as if both suns of Tatooine were sitting upon it. Eyes watering, it took every ounce of willpower not to spit it back out, the other two Vizslas watching on with absolute mirth and delight as she reached for her drink. That didn’t do any better, because even that was spiced.

Panic began to set in as she panted, blinked over and over again as her chest ached.

“Giving you a heturam? ” Paz grinned to her contempt.

“If you’re hungry, you’ll eat it,” Hux barely looked up from his own food.

She managed to turn over the rice and push some in her mouth which helped with the burn. Neither of her aliit were bothered by how spicy the food was and she wondered if her buir had purposely made hers hotter just to get a kick. By this point, her entire tongue was scorched of any taste buds, allowing her to force down a few more bites as her throat rebelled. How had they gone from uj’cake to this?

Ending the day with a shower, she wandered over to her window, her headband off and her ears finally free. Gazing out, she noticed how the moonlight dappled the grass and turned it blue like back in Genmaris. She thought that it was rather pretty how the wind would tangle its fingers through the tall fronds, scattering them in rippling ethereal waves as the moonlight highlighted them. There were no birds, no songs to look forward to in the morning, but then again… Sena was the bird now. Clinging to the edge of the window, she lingered, wishing to open it but afraid that someone might pass by and see her face.

Papa, I miss you.

---

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

It was the most Goddess awful sound she’d ever heard in her life. Rolling over, she eyed the alarm clock which read 0430, blinking its red lights at her, indicating that it was time to get up. Groaning, she slapped it a few times, trying to get the atrocious noise, that sounded akin to a loth-cat being strangled, to stop. Finally, she found the button and clicked it off, rubbing her eyes as they quickly adjusted to the dim light of the room. Dawn was just on the horizon, but it was not time for sunrise for another couple of hours. Sena hadn’t slept well, her anxiety hitching with the hours and when she finally had shut her eyes, she had only gotten a couple hours.

Changing from her pajamas - a simple pair of leggings and a t-shirt - she traded them for her jumpsuit and began fumbling at the armor. Her fingers weren’t dexterous at it yet and she kept eying the clock, realizing she was taking much longer than she should have. Tying her boots too tight, she grabbed her helmet and ran out of the room, forgetting her headband and having to turn back around to get it. Paz was already about to leave and she was frantic, sprinting to the counter to grab a piece of toast before forcing it down her gullet. Some food was better than none.

Oh, Goddess. Only 5 minutes.

She shoved her helmet on her head and ran out of the house. Her brother was already gone. Whipping her head around she started for the Junction House, her stomach balling up, bile rising in the back of her throat as she slipped into the room just as the bell chimed. Sena was momentarily relieved until she realized she was standing by the door while the rest of the class was neatly arranged in a formation on the padded mats. A pair of adults looked her way, her fingers clasping together in front of her to prevent her from shaking.

“Vizsla?” the male adult, in juniper blue armor inquired, his visor accented with holly red.

“Y-yes, sir,” she stammered, stepping forward after counting 10 students sitting on the ground.

“ K’olar! We haven’t got all morning,” the male informed her, gesturing sharply, his voice powerful and commanding.

Sena stumbled forward and waited expectantly.

“At attention,” he sighed, shaking his head at her.

“Att-” she’d seen guards and knights snap to attention when she and papa passed by them. Comprehending what he was asking, she jolted, heels together, spine erect, chin leveled, and shoulders back.

“And here I was thinking Hux would’ve prepared you for this. Not surprised another Vizsla is lacking brain cells.”

“Give the kid a break. It’s her first day,” the other teacher chimed, a female mando in polished sage green armor. Sena decided she liked this mando better.

“Learn fast or fall hard,” the male snipped.

“As long as you get back up,” Sena said in a very, tiny, tiny voice.

“What did you say?”

She stiffened, realizing she couldn’t just speak when she wanted. This was a very strange concept to her. Only speak when asked a question or given permission. Before, she’d been allowed to blabber to her heart’s content. Now she was afraid.

The female mando chuckled. “Relax, adiik. Thak, cut it out with the theatrics unless you want Hux to find you later and beat you into the wall,” she soothed, turning around and tilting her visor toward the rest of the students. “Class, this is our newest Foundling, Senaar of Clan Vizsla. I expect you all to accept your new vod with open arms and help her learn the ropes. Senaar, do you have anything to say?”

Turning around, she glanced out amongst the unreadable visors of her peers. The rest of them were wearing leather armor as well and for once, she wasn’t the smallest one. “I just want to… say hi,” the words came out sheepish and she floundered, having not prepared to be put on the spot like this. So many other children her age. So many chances to create friendships she’d never experienced before. So many chances to kriff it up. A few giggled at her, which did nothing to calm her erratically beating chest. Licking her lips, she clutched her fists and hoped that this would end soon.

“Xivi, I am tasking you with looking after Senaar today and helping explain anything she might not understand during the lessons,” the female teacher declared, giving a meaningful glance toward a girl with a bright yellow bucket.

Sena didn’t have to be a mind reader to see the slight dip in shoulders, the disappointment of having to babysit. They thought she was going to be dead weight for a while.

“Senaar go stand beside Xivi,” the mentor ushered her off.

Joining the other girl, her cheeks burned beneath her helmet as a few watched her step by. The moment she was beside her, Xivi tilted her head slightly. “Where are you from?”

“Naboo.”

The girl sighed .

Kriff. What was wrong with Naboo? Grinding her teeth, Sena waited apprehensively, solid as a statue and absolutely unmoving as the teachers, Thak & Nibak, started morning warm ups. After spreading the kids out, they began with stretches so that they wouldn’t hurt themselves. This was easy enough to follow along, as were the minor exercises that followed after. Lifting her head while doing push ups, Sena was startled to see that she was actually doing quite well. A larger girl, more than a head taller than her, was struggling to get the form down. Sena supposed that her own compact form and being light due to her race assisted in the ease of these body weight workouts. She was able to push out just as many as the boys were.

“Nice form, Vizsla. Go a little lower next time,” Thak paced between the students, giving her a nod of acknowledgement which made her let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“ Elek ,” she huffed, making certain that she addressed the adult properly.

“Aya, go down to your knees and keep pushing if you’re struggling,” Thak moved onto the girl who was just in front of her. “Proper form is more important than doing full push ups.”

Most of the girls were on their knees by now, trying to shove the mats beneath them, as Sena finished off her last 10. Sitting up and tucking her legs beneath her rump, she glanced around.

“Was your weekend too long? Did you eat too much uj’alayi? ” Thak craned down, scrutinizing a boy with a midnight blue helmet. His voice was pensive and sharp, angry almost. “Just because you have days off doesn’t mean you’re allowed to slack! The future of the Tribe is here and you can’t even push out 40? Disappointing. On your feet!”

Sena jetted up, bouncing slightly on her heels as she wondered what was about to happen. By the depressed postures of the other students, she had a feeling that they were about to be punished.

“Seems you all need to run off your sweets from this weekend-” his proclamation was met by numerous groans. “ Uur! I’ll hear none of it. Last one to return after five laps of the covert will be stuck with cleaning duty tonight. Viinir! ”

Buckets swiveled and feet pounded like a stampede of bantha as her peers began rushing out of the entrance. Sena nearly tripped, sputtering after them as she followed the pack, comprehending that the laps were around the village’s perimeter. Filling her lungs with air, she trotted past and set her eyes to the front. Of course she wasn’t going to be last, but she wondered if she could manage to be first. What would happen if she was the best? Did the first place winner get a reward? The loser had to clean, so she supposed at the very least she’d get bragging rights.

Kicking her legs out beneath her, she sailed forward and caught up with a boy with an unpainted helmet, the silver beskar catching in the dull blue morning light. She didn’t speak to him, didn’t greet him, but focused on beating him. That way she could go home and tell Hux what a great job she had done. Running was easy, after all, she’d done it plenty of times in more hazardous landscapes, dodging roots and rocks, hills and nooks. The grass was nothing , nor the little mounds and rises they crested and sloped across.

Five laps ended with her fighting the silver boy for the lead. Her heart burned, soaring high like a bird, her eyes stretched wide as she panted and strained for victory. Thak and Nibak were waiting by the doors, the man having his arms crossed as he tapped his foot. “Hurry up!” he intoned, despite the fact that they were the first ones back. “Djarin. Vizsla. Good job, go get a drink of water and wait for the rest of your vod. ”

She grumbled slightly, disappointed that he’d called the boy’s name first. Heading back inside, she picked up her water bottle and flipped the straw up, shoving it into her mouth and quenching her burning throat with the lukewarm liquid. Her helmet turned toward Djarin, who was also sipping at his water. “Nice job. Next time I’ll beat you,” she said hoarsely, but in good spirits. Running was probably her favorite exercise to do aside from climbing.

“I wasn’t trying,” the boy retorted peevishly.

Sena’s smile wilted on her face. “Neither was I,” she snarked, trying to sound impressive, but her voice squeaked, absolutely betraying her. Cheeks and ears heating, she sat down and muttered to herself. What was his problem? No sense of honest rivalry? She wasn’t given the time to come up with another snide remark, but she was thinking about it - imagining how she could have clapped back at him, all the clever things she could have said in place of the stupid one she’d blurted out.

Other classmates were trailing back in, huffing and puffing, in much worse shape than the victors. Amongst the last to trot in was the girl, Aya - who had a bright hot pink helmet - and a boy called Vowr whose helmet was a splotchy grey, as if the paint had faded and he hadn’t bothered to touch it up. Routines phased into hand to hand combat, which she was quite nervous about.

Paired back up with Xivi, they observed the teachers explaining simple throws and strikes, telling them to draw their punches today and aim for center mass. Eventually, they let the young teens turn back toward each other.

“You’re fast,” Xivi commented as they began going through the palm strikes. Thrust, thrust, parry, turn.

“I like running,” Sena shrugged, catching the strikes on her vambrace as Xivi continued her routine.

“Yeah but no one is Djarin fast. Gave him a run for his credits today,” she snickered, moving into a defensive position so that Sena could start her own offensive turn.

“Really? He said he wasn’t trying,” she smiled a bit at Xivi’s words. Thrust, thrust, parry, turn.

“Course he did,” Xivi snorted, shaking her helmet. “How old are you?”

“13. And you?”

“14,” Xivi answered. “I was a little bit worried about you, but you seem to be in good fitness.”

“Thanks, that means a lot to hear that,” her cheeks flushed at the compliment.

“Little word of advice though. Careful about trying to best Djarin.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s top of the class and has been for a while. Only Kedth has come close in some aspects and the two have fought over it. Had a few duels to settle the matter-” she cleared her throat, stepping back slightly as Sena’s strike slipped through her guard and hit her chest. “Anyways, unless you want a shebs kicking, I’d advise against it.”

“I don’t think I’m nearly that good, but thanks for the warning. If I can just beat him at running, I think I’ll be pleased,” she admitted, clenching her fist and opening it slightly. Despite being good at physical activities, she doubted she’d come close to any of the other kids in varying subjects. There were too many topics for her to be naturally gifted with them all and she wasn’t an airhead who believed her princess upbringing made her any better. In fact, it should’ve made it worse, but at least Xivi was rather nice now that she’d warmed up to the Anaxian.

Combatives ended and they were given a short recess to get more water, have a snack, and file into the classroom. The topics of the day were geometry, galactic history, and Mando’a. Sena found the academics to be simple enough, though the Mando’a she had to take a considerable amount of notes. Most people in the room could string entire phrases together, even speak it fluently, and she was putzing around in slight confusion. Xivi leaned over a few times to translate. Lunch time came and they were allowed to go back to their homes to eat with their helmets off.

“How’s class?” Paz asked her, their buir not home for lunch.

“Not bad, actually,” Sena revealed, chucking a dopey smile at her vod. “I honestly thought it was going to be worse.”

“It’s only the first day, but try not to lose that shereshoy . You might be chipper today, but you’ll get sore eventually,” Paz reminded her in good nature.

“Sore?” she scoffed. “I’m Anaxian, made entirely of sinew and muscle, wind playing through the trees, and verdant shadows. A little running and push ups isn’t going to break me.”

“ Nayc , you’re Mandalorian now,” Paz disagreed, tossing a look over at the clock on the stove. “A stupid, grinning pointy eared Mandalorian, but one nonetheless. Prove to your aliit that you’ve got a few brain cells. Oya! Don’t want to be late. Thak won’t be so nice to you if you pull that stunt again tomorrow.”

“Nice?” she squeaked in disbelief.

“You don’t want to see Thak when he’s angry.”

“He seems angry all the time!”

Paz chuckled, guiding her back out of the house as they put their buckets on. “He’s aggressive, not angry. See you after class, Sen’ika.” He gave her a slight head bump and they parted ways.

Classes after lunch consisted of marksmanship for the remainder of the day. The others were allowed to go through drills, but Nibak pulled her aside to test where she was. The sage green mando had her disassemble a few different weapons, which Sena was comfortable taking apart and putting back together. She fumbled a little bit with the coil in the buttstock of the rifle, her muscles straining as she shoved it back in, but otherwise thought she moved at a smooth pace. Not too fast, but also not dragging on.

“How well do you know how to shoot?” Nibak inquired after they went through the weapons.

“I know how to shoot a sidearm well enough, but I’m not that familiar with rifles and shotguns,” she answered honestly. There was no point in pretending she was good at it just to eat her words when placed on the range. “My buir showed me how to take them apart.”

“As he should have,” Nibak hummed, picking up the rifle. “We’ll start with this. Come along.”

Following the teacher away from the rest, who were doing dime and washer drills, they left the Junction House and headed out toward the range on the outside of the village and nestled down in a valley. Burms had been created out of soil and dirt, a line of target dummies set at varying distances. She noticed that some of them were droids, which could probably be turned on to move around and simulate live targets. Nibak set the rifle down on the block, muzzle down range, and handed Sena a cartridge.

“Start with prone, which will be down here,” she got down on her belly, propping herself up slightly with her elbows, pretending to have a rifle seated against the pocket of her shoulder.

Sena got down on the grass with her and cocked her right leg, which helped steady her balance and lifted her up. After getting a nod, she picked up the rifle, her arms quivering slightly at the weight.

She found herself struggling to hold the weapon upright, fumbling the cartridge in, before sliding the charging handle forward. Nibak noticed her struggling. "Tuck your elbows in more, you can slide down lower in order to plant more firmly." Following the instructions, Sena found a more comfortable position, her finger flat against the side of the weapon as she waited for more instructions. "Aim for the target at 100 meters and fire."

Switching the safety off with her thumb, Sena set the cheek of her helmet against the buttstock, surprised to find that the curve fit perfectly, locking into place. Her visor adjusted swiftly to the sight picture, listing the muzzle in the direction of the target a medium distance away. Drawing her breath, she squeezed the trigger at the bottom and the weapon kicked with the fire. She blinked a few times, her shoulder absolutely raw from where the high powered rifle sat. Teeth rattled, she licked her lips and glanced at Nibak.

"Good shot. Control the kick more so that you don't lose sight picture," Nibak eased, nodding for her to continue.

Sena fired a few more times before her shoulder began to shake.

"Are you alright?"

Grinding her teeth, she gave a mute nod, not wishing to seem weak, but kriff it hurt. Felt as if she'd been kicked by a bantha. Volleying off a few more shots, they swapped over to the shotgun and Sena felt herself absolutely dreading have to fire it. Leaning into her shot, her grip slipped and she dropped the gun. Nibak darted forward, shoving her back away from the hot weapon, and yanked her by her raw arm. Sena was unable to stop the howl from escaping her mouth.

" Verd'ika ! Dank farrik how much do you weigh?" Nabik hissed, snatching up the shotgun and switching the lever to safe.

Sena's hand palmed her aching muscles. "A normal weight," she muttered, realizing she was a normal weight for an Anaxian. Not a human.

"You can't be more than 30 kilos," Nibak continued to fret, realization dawning on her. "Your shoulder-"

"I'm fine!" Sena spat irritably, upset that her arm hurt and not wishing to be treated differently.

"Are you human?"

She sucked her teeth, having hoped that this wouldn't come up. Until now, everything else had been manageable, even the hand to hand combat. "No." Would Nibak pry?

"That is important information, verd'ika. Will you tell me what race you are?"

She shook her head. "Sephi offshoot," was all she could supply.

"Lighter bone density," Nibak sighed. "This will affect your training."

Her stomach dropped and she pulled her hand down. "I feel fine. I can keep going. I can-"

"Stop lying, verd'ika . Trying to push your body past its breaking point will only get you and your vod killed in the future," Nibak started, her voice hardening and becoming crisp. No longer was it nurturing or warm, Sena quailing and sitting back on her heels as she waited to be yelled at. Instead, Nibak just shook her head. "Every Mandalorian has different strengths. You will need to play to yours. You are quick, verd'ika . You will still need to qualify with a rifle and shotgun, but we will make exceptions to spread your testing out to prevent injury. Come along, we are finished for the day."

Even if Nibak had been reasonable in what she said, Sena's head sagged, trailing behind her teacher as she knew for a fact that others would notice her getting special treatment. She tried to blink back tears, but supposed that the helmet did her a favor in hiding them as they stung down her face. She held her lips to prevent her mouth from sniffling. Her first day and she'd already been sorted out and told she would be inferior in certain aspects.

The class was released for the day and Sena slunk back home, not feeling up to doing anything as her shoulder hurt. Peeling off her bucket and pauldrons, she tugged down her sleeve enough to see that a nasty bruise was spreading along the inside pocket of her shoulder beside her pecs. A frustrated huff parted her lips and she rounded, kicking the frame of her bed as hard as she could. The fit was followed with a lance of pain up her leg, radiating from where her foot connected with the steel. At least it distracted her from the pain on her shoulder.

Moping in her room, she didn't go out for dinner, hearing a knock on her door. How could she face her aliit? Word probably traveled fast and they'd know that she would never be able to wield a rifle or shotgun in an adept manner. That was a huge part of an arsenal. If she couldn't even heft a rifle, it meant she'd never be allowed to touch heavy machinery for fear of it breaking her.

The door puffed open, despite the code she had set on it, recalling duly that Paz knew it. She snatched her blanket up, pulling it up to her chin and keeping her back to the door. "Was the day that long?" he teased. "Sen'ika?"

"I'm just tired," she grumbled, her voice cracking from how parched it was from sniffling like the biggest baby in the galaxy.

"I heard you did pretty well today. Almost beat Din in your morning run-" Paz preened, sitting on the edge of her bed. "But you need to eat to keep up your strength. Even if you're not hungry, you should try to put down some of it. It's not as spicy tonight." He patted her shoulder, making her suck in a sharp breath, her body betraying her before she could purse her lips. "Wha- Are you hurt?"

Her eyes began burning again, her teeth clenched as tight as a vise grip as she tried not to cry. Why was she such a wimp? "I'm fine."

"Senaar, if you have an injury we should put some bacta on it. You still have to go to training tomorrow," Paz was definitely frowning now, but she didn't turn to look at him. "Let me look."

She grumbled petulantly, but her brother didn't move. Instead, he waited until she was done grousing, throwing glares, and then sat up yanking down her shirt to show him the darkening bruise.

"Dank farrik how did you get that?" he cursed, eying the nebula blossom against tanned skin.

"I was testing weapons with Nibak and one was a high caliber rifle. The kick bruised me and then I dropped the shotgun and she asked if I was human. Obviously, I couldn't lie or she'd think I was severely underweight. Now they're going to treat me different. I-I-I just told them I was a Sephi subrace, but now I can't do the same things as the others-" the words splattered out of her mouth ineloquently, absolute word vomit as she felt the bitter tears burn in the corners of her eyes. "I was doing so well today and then this happened."

"So?"

Her mouth dropped open and she glowered at him. "So? What do you mean? I'll never be as good as anyone else if I can only use pistols!"

"You're really worried about that?" Paz was staring at her honestly, his icy eyes snaring her gold. "What good are you broken? Your first day here and the teachers are already talking about your potential. No one is perfect at everything, this is a minor setback. Focus on your strengths. You're fast and can move silently, that's a skill most Mandalorians don't have - at least not naturally, they have to work for years to have that. In the meantime, stop beating yourself up over it. Your teachers are here to help you grow in the right direction and will tailor your training accordingly. Do you want to keep shooting these weapons until you fracture your shoulder?"

She shook her head.

"Then stop worrying," he reached up and ruffled her hair. "Want to know a secret?"

"What?" she muttered.

"I sucked at reconnaissance and stealth. So terribly that I thought they weren't going to let me attempt my Trial. You know that little stunt you pulled back in the castle?" he was alluding to when she'd stabbed the stormtrooper. "I could have never done that. You are as silent as a shadow and jumped several meters like a nexu. Dush'shebs ! You'll make an amazing kyramud one day."

"You think so?"

"I know so. But only if you eat your dinner and keep on top of your studies and practice," Paz reminded her. "Let's get some bacta lotion for that bruise."

"And food," she added, feeling a little better after Paz's pep talk.

Sena's schooling continued and she took what Paz had told her to heart. You couldn't be good at everything and dwelling on her deficiencies would just cause her to get into her own head too much. Didn't help that this Djarin kid seemed to be good at everything, but Sena tried to ignore this fact and focus on her own training. Xivi became a fast friend and her partner for most combat drills. The canary yellow mando swiftly fell in step with her after classes, where they would practice Mando'a, since it was Sena's roughest academic subject. In exchange, she helped Xivi with her running and tried to teach her more acrobatic maneuvers with obstacles. For Sena it was easy to leap, duck, dodge, and adjust on the fly - be that midair or on the ground. This agility was quickly noticed and Xivi yearned to have even a shred of Sena's ability.

It became common knowledge that she was Sephi, which wasn't entirely true, but she didn't discredit it. She couldn't fully participate in some live fire activities, Thak let her fire a few times before putting a pistol in her hand, telling her to sharpen those skills instead. Part of her desperately wanted to be able to saddle up with one of the cool ambien rifles, but her shoulder twinged in memory of how badly the initial kick hurt her. Sidearms didn't bother her and she had a decent shot, increasing her draw and hipfire with the progressing weeks.

Mornings were her favorite, hoping that Thak would make them run so she'd get a chance to try and best Djarin. The silver mando never spared her, or anyone, many words. He kept to himself and Xivi said he'd always been like that. Sena wondered why, since they were all vod and being reclusive did nothing but make the others dislike you. Did she dislike him? She didn't know him. Though the few words she did exchange with him were mostly terse and fuelled by their rivalry in fitness.

But everything wasn't sunshine and rainbows. Falling into step quickly, adjusting with her peers, and finding a niche to occupy, she swiftly saw the weakest links amongst their group. Had she not been Anaxian and a wild spirit who had trolloped through the woods, Sena expected she might've been more ill prepared than she was. The girl who had difficulty with push ups on her first day, Aya, was amongst the struggling. Her magenta bucket was easy to pick out and it was like a beacon for Thak to hone on and chastise. Sena actually felt bad for how much the girl was picked on, told to improve... but that pity quickly faded. She'd caught Nibak offering extra lessons after their final bell, only for Aya to decline and say she was working on her own. Still, there was no improvement and she continued to get reamed out by Thak.

Eventually, about two months since Sena's arrival, Thak began comparing Aya's failures to other students. Particularly her.

"Senaar has been here for two months and she's already outpaced you, Aya," he scolded as she continued to struggle with push ups. "A Sephi Nabooian has outpaced you."

She wondered if she should have been offended by the way he said Sephi, but supposed it didn't matter since that actually wasn't her race. Everyone knew she was featherlight by this point as Nibak had told them that no one was allowed to use full strikes during combatives for fear of someone breaking something. If the teacher's words were meant to be motivating, they weren't, and Sena's cheeks burned with embarrassment for both herself and Aya.

Following class, she found the magenta bucket and tapped the tall girl on the shoulder. "Aya..." she cleared her throat, trying to muster her princess voice so she was as polite and courteous as possible. The girl turned, tilting her helmet down impassively - the telltale taut and bitter line of her shoulders clear. "Xivi and I are going to do some obstacle course runs today if you want to join us. After we practice Mando'a. You're more than welcome to join us today and any other day."

Aya was utterly silent, so silent that Senu realized she'd barely heard the girl speak before. Finally, "Do you think I'm laandur ?" her voice came out hot, Sena's helmet immediately picking up on the fury in the girl's voice.

"What?" Sena squeaked, throwing up her hands in a submissive manner. "N-no, I just thought you might-"

"That I need to run more? That I'm fat and slow? That you, an aruetii , could show me the ropes?"

She had not expected this at all, her jaw dropping at Aya's harsh words. Aruetii ? Aya had called her an outsider. "I'm trying to be nice!" she screeched, her patience vanishing like smoke dissipated by a strong gale. "I never see you practicing after class and Xivi and I are always outside. I thought maybe you wanted other people to work out with."

"Like I'd choose you or Sunshine to help me. You can't even shoot most weapons. You're not exactly the shining example of mandokar . At least I can handle an entire arsenal, vaar'ika ," Aya snapped, jabbing a thick finger into Sena's chest, making her stumble back. "Let's see where all the running gets you when I snipe you across the hill."

"Kriff! Fine, forget I asked," Sena hissed dejectedly, turning away and leaving Aya to her fuming. Her own heart burned, chest heaving as she stomped back home. What the hell was her problem? Did she really think that Sena was being snide? That inviting her out was going to be nothing but a chance for Xivi and her to laugh behind their buckets? Then, on top of that, Aya had gone right for the kill and insulted her. This was the first time in her life that someone had rejected her like that and Sena was trembling with unbridled rage. Had she done the right thing? Could that conversation have gone better?

"Woah look out over here, we've got a wild mythosaur on a rampage," Paz hooted as she opened the door to their karyai and continued to trundle in.

"What do you know about that stupid pink bucket, Aya?"

"Aya?" he arched a brow, setting down his blaster that he had been cleaning. "I heard that she's having some issues with her fitness."

"I invited her to join Xivi and I after classes and she bit my kriffing head off!" She plopped down across the table, removing her own blaster, deciding she should clean it while she was there.

"Hm," Paz hummed, thinking about the subject for a little while before speaking again. "She's sensitive about it. Her buir didn't return from a hunt a few months before you arrived. It's been worse since then."

The blood rushed out of her face and she felt her ears sag slightly beneath her headband. Sighing deeply, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I was trying to help her," she said quietly. Now Aya's reserved nature, the quiet answers to Thak, and Nibak's offer being turned down were making more sense. "I didn't know."

"How could you, vod'ika ? You did the right thing and tried to help her, but respect her decision to take the time she needs," Paz eased before shifting the subject. "So, I heard from the pipeline that your marks are quite high."

"Well aside from marksmanship since I can only really shoot this thing-" she bared the blaster which was already in three pieces. "Academics aren't that difficult and Xivi has been helping me with Mando'a."

"A humble princess? You surprise me again, vod'ika ."

Humble? Papa had told her that bragging about your accomplishments would just make people dislike you. Plus, Sena knew that school and marks didn't make up for real experiences. The real tests would be the Trials which were a few years off. She could only hope that she'd be prepared enough to make an attempt at 16. Given her comfort with the current regiment, aside from her disappointment in marksmanship, Sena was hopeful that she'd be able to make it there in time. "Not humble, just realistic," she groused, blushing at her brother's words. His praise was hard earned and he always knew the right things to say to brighten her mood even when it was abysmal.

"I wish I had that many brain cells," Paz snorted.

" Gar mirsh solus ," she countered, drawing a guffaw from him.

"Xivi teach you that one?"

"She taught me all the rude things first so that way if someone insults me, I know," she grinned, but sat back and considered what had happened. Even if Aya had lost her buir , she hadn't needed to take it out on her. Sena lost her papa and entire life as she knew it and wasn't ripping people's throats out for offering to help. Whatever. It was over and Sena had done the right thing in being the bigger person.

At least, that's what she thought.

Come morning, after their initial work out, they were paired up for combatives. Partners were switched around, so that people would be on their toes not facing their typical match up. Sena was loomed over by Aya, which was fine, all it was was grappling today. Most would just be mounting, a few tosses, and domination positions and the mats were padded. If Aya was still mad at her, she could vent her frustration and Sena wouldn't blame her. Squaring up with the girl, she knew this wasn't going to go in her favor. This wasn't free fighting where she could try and coil around Aya like a snake to try and win, it was a set of maneuvers and Aya would win because she was bigger and heavier. Heck, nearly everyone in there would be Sena except for 10 year old Terri.

Well, hopefully this goes by fast, she thought tartly, glancing over a Din and Oyiin who flanked them.

Aya lunged first, trading a few weak blows before they toppled to the ground. Sena fought for a dominant position, but was little more than a hissing loth-cat kitten as Aya picked her up by the scruff and flung her against the floor. Air whoosed out of her lungs, but Sena recovered before the girl could mount her. She rolled out of the way, rubbing her neck where she'd collided. Not a big deal. People often forgot how small she was and underestimated their strength. Aya hadn't fought with her before, so it'd be a little touch and go.

Grappling again, Sena swiped her foot under Aya, sending her thumping down and mounted. The girl twirled, asserting dominance and flipping their positions. Sena squirmed, writhing in her grip, managing to slip the hold like an eel and jump to her feet.

Thak and Nibak were across the room, correcting tosses. Back with her boots on the ground, Aya parried again and did something that Sena was not expecting. Her fingers grabbed the front of her cuirass before Aya checked her into the ground. All air was driven from her lungs and her head spun, choking for breath as a sharp whine crackled through her modulator. Aya mounted while she was dazed and pushed harder than she needed too to restrain her collar, air still not pooling in her lungs.

"Hey. Hey !"

Her ears were ringing, each blink hazy and spinning as she registered the magenta bucket casting a shadow over her. Everytime she closed her eyes, the world returned in a slow, foggy shape and Aya almost appeared as if she had two heads.

"Get off of her!"

Aya was shoved off and she was finally able to sputter, greedily sucking at air as she tried to process what had just happened.

"Didn't realize. She's laandur -" Aya was speaking, crossing her arms as if she hadn't just used an illegal toss and choked the air out of her partner.

"She barely weighs 30 kilos. What did you think would happen when you sat your fat shebs on her chest?"

"Watch it Djarin or you'll be next."

"What's going on over here?" Nibak trotted over, glancing between the boys and girls as Sena scrambled, finally able to sit up as the blood rushed back to her face.

"I'm ok!" she squeaked, not wanting to get Aya in trouble. The girl had already been through a lot and tattling on her would just make it worse. "Aya bested me. Knocked the wind out of me, that's all!"

Nibak tilted her visor toward Aya, letting the tension hang in the air, before shrugging slightly. "Be careful, Aya. You know that your vod is smaller than everyone else."

"I know, I'll be careful next time," Aya promised dolefully.

Nibak departed and the pairs split off again, Djarin turning away and grumbling quietly to himself. His wary visor kept glancing back, as if he were expecting Aya to make a second attempt to hurt Sena. With Ninak now watching with a hawk-like gaze, the lesson continued without any further issues. They were allowed their recess before moving onto academics. Whatever frustration Aya had wanted to vent had been allowed and Sena had covered her shebs by not saying anything. Again, she thought it would get better, that the girl had gotten her revenge, but found herself becoming the fixations of microaggressions.

From bumping into her desk, to pushing by her every chance she got, to even yanking on her braid once, Aya did not relent. How in kriff's name was this equal to being insulted? Sena hadn't intended on insulting Aya, so what was her problem? Come the end of the school day, she was grousing to herself, trying to walk it off and be the bigger person. Eventually, Aya would realize that she was being a brat and would leave her alone. If she were back in Genmaris, she would've punched Aya already, but she still felt bad for her. Aya was probably a nice person and was just going through a tough time, Sena could certainly relate.

"Hey," she stopped just a few houses down from the Vizsla home. Turning, she caught the glint of Djarin's silver helmet in the sun. "Why didn't you say anything? Aya has been torturing you all day."

"It's fine," Sena shrugged. "I know she's still echoy'la ."

"She choked you this morning," he reminded her flatly.

"Not difficult seeing how big I am," she brushed it off.

"What did you do?"

"I asked her if she wanted to join Xivi and I for our practice in the evening. She got rather upset, so I dropped it. She must've thought I was being contemptuous, but I just wanted to help her get her fitness up. We're all vod , we've got to help each other out," she explained, taken aback that Djarin was actually interested. This was the most he'd talked to her since she had arrived. Otherwise, they exchanged taunting rebuttals while trying to outpace one another in their exercises.

"And that warrants choking?" Din inquired dryly.

"I'm not upset. Just let it go. It's not a big deal. She'll probably go back to normal tomorrow."

"And if she doesn't?"

Sena paused, having not considered this option. What if she became Aya's punching bag to get out all those frustrations? Pursing her lips she let out a sigh, which crackled through the vocoder. "I'll deal with it. Thanks for the concern, but I'll still kick your shebs in the morning run tomorrow."

"Yeah right."

---

Also here's your translations!

Vod - Sibling/Comrade/Brother/Sister Jai'galaar - shriek hawk Buir - parent Vod'ika - little soldier/private Aliit - clan/family Su cuy'gar - You're still alive; greeting Su'cuy - Hi Sen'ori - big bird; respectful older sibling name for Senaar Elek - Yes Cin vhetin - blank slate Beskar'gam - armor Ori'vod - big sibling Alor - leader Karyai - living area/main area of Mandalorian home for eating and resting Ade - children Uj'alayi - dense, sweet Mandalorian cake Vor'e - Thanks Heturam - mouth burn; highly sought out in Mandalorian food and indicates VERY spicy food K'olar! - Come here! Get over here at once! Uur - Go Viniir - Run Shebs - butt; ass Shereshoy - lust for life that is Mandalorian Nayc - No Oya - Let's go! or lit. Let's Hunt! Dush'sebs - badass Kyramud - Assassin Laandur - weak; highly insulting Auretii - outsider Mandokar - the right stuff; for Mandalorians Vaar'ika - pipsqueak Gar mirsh solus - Your braincell is lonely Echoy'la - grieving, mourning

#big brother paz vizsla #paz vizsla & oc character #the manadalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #oc mandalorian #growing up mandalorian #din djarin x oc

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