Chapter Text
They fit comfortably on the two ships, enough for Din to be laid out on the floor with blankets, his visor dimmed and bacta applied around his throat. He doesn’t try to speak, focusing more on his breathing. He drifts in and out of sleep, waking to the quiet murmurs around him. There’s a sense of accomplishment and sorrow.
He continues to drift.
The ache in his head won’t go away.
Eventually, someone comes and sticks him with something, and he’s out.
At some point, he’s aware of Paz lying next to him. He’s conscious, if the grunts of pain are any indication, and there’s muffled sounds of pain. He looks over and sees Zhith and Asaar kneeling beside him, pulling off pieces of armor to treat the damage.
He turns his head. He sees Luke, the Armorer, Griphin, standing and talking. Every few seconds, they glance towards him. He feels sluggish, slow, out of his own body. He doesn’t feel like focusing his eyes. His head rolls and he stares at the ceiling.
He slips into darkness again.
Luke stands at the door of the Razor Crest as they land on Takodana, a nervousness in his stomach at what might still await them. The Mandalorians have been quiet for most of their journey, most focused on tending to the injured ones spread out on the floor. They haven’t lost anyone on the journey home, though many have strayed close.
Din has held steady, as dim as his life force seems. Luke is relieved. He was in and out of it early, fitful and distressed until someone injected him with something through his arm. He’d become calm for a while, just mumbling in his sleep, sometimes seeming awake but not aware.
He’s alive, Luke tells himself. That’s what matters.
He’d hoped Din could be at least responsive when they landed. That Kuiil would be okay and they’d be able to see each other. Reunite again. Both be assured that everything was okay now. That they’d won. That everything was okay.
The Razor Crest settles and the door raises, the ramp lowering. Everyone standing stays out of the way as the wounded are gathered up, brought out first. Two people carry Din, one at his back or feet, and they’re careful as they move him. Some wounded can stand and walk with help.
Luke looks over his shoulder and sees the group waiting for him. Maz stands with the foundlings, who all are stepping forward and looking for their guardians. Kuiil stands among them, gripping Maz’s hand, almost hiding behind her.
As Din is carried off, he perks up and watches, then rushes over. “Buir?” he whimpers. “Buir?”
“He’s okay,” the Mandalorian with Din says. “He’ll be okay, ad’ika.”
The kid makes a whimper and jumps onto his shoulder to follow.
Once the wounded have been taken off and brought towards the castle, the rest follow. Luke walks down and towards Maz, a group of children running past with cries for their parents, and she looks up at him with hands on her waist.
“You’re back,” she says.
“Barely,” Luke says. “Gideon is dead. The Mandalorians have their Darksaber. Plenty of deaths, but… not in vain.”
Maz nods, but there’s something on her face that Luke can’t not notice. She looks past him towards the other Mandalorians.
“Maz,” Luke says. “Is something wrong? What happened with Gideon’s men?”
She looks at him, then lets out a sigh. “The children will tell the Mandalorians,” she says. “Let’s go somewhere more private to… discuss it.”
Luke frowns. When Maz turns and begins walking, he follows behind her, an unsettled feeling coming to his stomach.
While the Mandalorians coup up in their usual part of the castle, Maz and Luke go elsewhere, locking the door behind them. Luke watches as Maz lets out a long breath, leaning back against the table, and frowns.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s Kuiil,” she says.
Luke tilts his head to the side. “He’s okay.”
“Physically, he’s fine.” Maz walks over to take a seat. “Besides that… I’m concerned.”
Luke turns to face her. “Gideon’s men?”
“Dead.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“They came hours ago,” Maz says. “I’d sensed it as they arrived. Kuiil came running, frightened out of his mind. He hid beneath the bar. When the troopers showed up, they were demanding to find him but got a shootout instead.”
Luke nods.
“They had a tracking fob,” Maz says. “Found him anyway. A trooper managed to get him out of the castle, but some of the foundlings stepped up and stopped him.” Maz looks up. “Kuiil killed him.”
Luke stares at her. “Kuiil,” he says. “Kuiil killed a trooper?”
“Didn’t just kill,” Maz says, her voice deathly serious. “Maimed. He choked him and turned the man inside out, like a burst of red. He was covered in blood and guts when he came back. Wouldn’t speak for a good time.”
Luke looks towards the door, drawing in breath. Kuiil had seemed off. But his father had come home injured and unconscious, and the last day had to have been more than rough. It was easy to chalk up to a stressful time that made him feel strange.
“The dark side has a seed planted in that boy,” Maz says. Her voice is tired, sad. “He needs help, Luke. Both you and Din Djarin need to be the barriers that stop him from falling further than he has. It’s become more important than it first seemed.”
Luke stares at the table, then runs a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “Din needs to know,” he says. “As soon as he’s healed and conscious to take it. I’ll… I’ll talk to Kuiil if I can.”
Maz frowns. “He wouldn’t talk to me,” she says. “But maybe to you.”
They fall into silence. A few moments pass, and then Maz gets up. “I will see if they need anything to care for their injured,” she says. “Take care of yourself, too, Luke.”
Luke nods and watches her go. Then turns back into his own thoughts.
Din wakes with a groggy well-restedness. Everything feels off for several moments, disoriented and confused, until his hand is gripped and he notices the small weight sitting in his lap.
“Buir!”
He looks down at Kuiil with clear eyes -- his own eyes, his helmet gone. All his beskar is gone but for his pendant. He blinks, then shifts and winces as he does. Kuiil stares at him with shining eyes, leaning forward with a hand planted on Din’s chest.
“Ad’ik…” he starts, but launches into a coughing fit. Kuiil pulls back, staring at him, and the tears begin to fall.
“Buir,” he whimpers.
He shoves forward and presses himself against Din’s chest, whimpering. “Buir,” he repeats, over and over, a mantra forced out from trembling lips. Din forces his arms up and around the boy, holding him tight. Their minds slot together again, the blessed noise of thoughts and emotions blocking out the silence.
“T-Told you I…” He coughs again. His throat feels raw and scratchy. “I’d come… back.”
That only serves to force Kuiil into further hysterics, sobbing into Din’s plain clothes. Din rubs his back, focusing on his breathing, on feeling more like he’s in his own body. Kuiil’s claws against him are grounding, something to focus on, a slight pain. In the tiny room, they are quiet, until Kuiil squirms to get up and Din lets go. He shifts down and reaches a hand to Din’s throat, claws spreading as his eyes close.
“No,” Din says, catching his wrist. He clears his throat. “I’m f… fine.”
“No you’re not,” Kuiil says, sniffling. “Buir. Please.”
Din stares at him. Kuiil puts his other hand against Din’s cheek, his eyes big with tears. “Please,” he whispers again, sniffling. “Please.”
Din swallows and lets go. “Not if it’s a lot,” he says.
Kuiil is quick as he presses his hand against Din’s skin and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. The healing is an odd sensation, but not unpleasant -- like a wave of something is running beneath his skin, dragging comfort and healing with it.
The bacta took care of the bruising, so whatever damage lies within his windpipe is repaired. Kuiil soon sits back with a tired blink, looking no worse for wear, so Din just lets out a breath and feels how it has become easier.
Din reaches up and cups Kuiil’s face in his hand. The boy leans into it, still sniffling. He doesn’t seem hurt -- he must be fine. “Gideon is dead,” he says, his voice coming through without pain. “He’s never going to hurt you again. He’s never going to hurt us.”
Kuiil lets out a whimper. “You’re okay,” he whispers.
“I’m okay.” His throat is healed but his head throbs. “We’re okay. We’re all going to be okay now.”
Kuiil pushes forward to curl up by his collarbone. His head tucks beneath Din’s chin and he sniffs, settling down there. Sleep still pulls at him, and Kuiil’s warmth is another draw. There’s soft voices outside, familiar ones that only pass by. The room goes untouched.
Din holds Kuiil and slips back under.
When he wakes, the sun beams have moved across the floor and he stares at them through a helmeted gaze. He’s being shaken gently and he immediately turns to grab the arm, jolting awake, reaching for his vibroblade where it doesn’t sit.
“Mando.” It’s Luke. His voice is soft. Din relaxes just as Kuiil squirms in his arms, seeming to press against his chest, and Din glances down before sitting up with the kid in one arm. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” he mutters.
Luke nods. His gaze shifts down to Kuiil with a slight frown, who stares in return but seems to shrink back against Din, turning and hiding his face. Both give off different kinds of nervous energy and Din frowns, a hand rubbing Kuiil’s back. “What is it?” he asks.
“There’s things to talk about,” he says. “If you’re feeling up for a discussion.”
Din takes a breath and nods. “I’m fine,” he says.
Luke nods, then turns and walks to the door. He steps out for a moment and Din just watches, frowning to himself, until he returns with the Armorer and Griphin behind him, both silent. The door closes behind them and Kuiil shifts in his arms, turning to look.
The Armorer stands at the end of the bed, Griphin at the side next to Luke. For a moment, they’re silent, until Din breaks it.
“How’s Ari?” he asks, his voice almost hoarse by how soft he is.
Griphin barely reacts but for the tiny movement of swallowing. “She’s fine.”
"Paz?"
"Pulling through fine." Then he clears his throat. “We need to talk about the Darksaber.”
Din glances at the Armorer. The Darksaber hangs from a hook on her belt, out of place and yet seeming like if it belongs anywhere, it’s there. Mand’alor, he thinks, letting out a breath. “What is there to discuss?”
“You killed Gideon,” the Armorer says. Her voice is as clear and authoritative as ever. “You killed the demagolka and the hunter of our people with the Darksaber. You’ve claimed it as yours.”
Din stares at her. “... I,” he says, and pauses. “I killed him with it, but it… it’s not mine.”
“It is,” the matriarch says. “You’ve killed the Usurper. The one whose aim was to slaughter our people. You took the Darksaber and claimed it.”
“Din,” Griphin says. “You’re the one to wield the Darksaber. You’re Mand’alor.”
Din stares, looking between them both. Though Luke only watches, a silent spectator, Kuiil lets out a breath and his hands dig into Din, looking up at him. “Mand’alor,” he whispers.
Din’s stomach is turning.
“I couldn’t,” he says. “I don’t… I don’t want it. I’m not Mand’alor. I’m not a leader, I -- you’re our leader. It should be you. You’ve lead us since the Purge and I could never…”
“You took the responsibility when you took the saber,” the Armorer says. “You picked it up not to seize power for yourself but to kill Gideon and avenge us. If it were a decision we did not like, we would not be standing here telling you that you are Mand’alor. We would give it to someone we had faith in. You have thought low of yourself for years, Din, but now is not the time to do so.”
She reaches down and takes the Darksaber off her belt, handing it to Griphin. Griphin holds it out to Din, who only looks with trepidation. It’s a beautiful weapon, one he’d jump at the opportunity to be able to master and use. But the symbolism behind it stands for so much more than he’s willing to take.
“Din,” Griphin says. “Take it. It won’t just be you. You think we’d just dump responsibility on you without help?”
“I don’t know how to wield it,” Din says.
“That’s what I’m for,” Luke says. “I’m already here for Kuiil. I can teach you to use it.”
Din looks at him, then at the Darksaber. Both Mandalorians have piercing gazes. Luke is silent again, his expression neutral. Kuiil squirms a bit.
Then the Darksaber floats out of Griphin’s hand and in front of Din. Din looks at Luke first, whose eyes are lower, and he looks down at Kuiil. His hand is outstretched.
Kuiil looks up at him.
Din pauses. “I can’t.”
Kuiil tilts his head. “You’re not supposed to lie,” he says in a soft voice, smiling.
“But what if--”
“This is the Way,” the Armorer says. Her voice is firm, unyielding.
“This is the Way,” Griphin repeats.
Din swallows. He reaches out with a shaky hand, his fingers hovering just beneath it. He pauses there, waiting, waiting for something. Then the Darksaber drops into his hand and he grasps it, feeling its weight.
“This is the Way,” he whispers.
The Armorer and Griphin leave soon after, but Luke lingers, a hesitant expression on his face.
“What is it?” Din says, finally setting aside the Darksaber on the bedside table. Anything to get it out of his hand.
“We need to talk later,” he says. “Just us.”
“Is something wrong?”
Luke hesitates. “Later,” he says. “You and I, whenever you’ve got a chance.”
Then he turns and leaves.
Din watches him go, then glances down at Kuiil. “Something’s up with him,” he mutters, before he puts the boy down and gets up.
Kuiil makes a soft sound in his throat but says no more. Din reaches for his stacked armor and begins to layer it on, his head still aching, but he tightens each strap and places each plate on with muscle memory. It feels familiar, right.
“Where are you going?” Kuiil whispers, staring up at him.
“To see how the others are doing,” Din says.
“But…”
“What is wrong?”
He kneels beside the bed, putting them on the same eye level. Kuiil stares at him, then just wipes at his face. “I-I…”
“Did Gideon’s men come?” he asks softly, reaching out to touch his vambraces and run a thumb over the metal. Kuiil sniffles and nods. “Did they hurt you?”
Kuiil shakes his head. “Th-they… almost,” he whispers, before he gives a loud sniff again. “Almost. But they’re dead. They’re dead.”
“Good,” Din says, and in an easy motion scoops the kid into his arms. Kuiil jumps up further onto his pauldron and clings there, leaning against Din’s helmet, and Din places a hand against him before he walks to the door.
“Wait.”
Kuiil is turned, looking back into the room, and he holds a hand out. The Darksaber lifts off the table and floats towards them, hovering just inches away. “Luke carries his,” he says.
It’s not the same, Din is about to say. But he bites his lip instead and reaches out to take it. It clips onto his belt, an unfamiliar weight that seems to drag him down.
He walks out of the room and into the hall. Several Mandalorians stand around in their groups, talking amongst themselves. Some have pieces of armor stripped with bandages in their place. They’re moved in tight, speaking low, the usual habit of their lives. Quiet within the covert. To not be heard, to not be known.
When he closes the door behind himself, they all turn to look.
They don’t speak. Like the day he returned with the beskar reward, they watch him go by, their helmets tilted downwards. The Darksaber seems to hum, weighing heavier, impossible to keep his focus on anything else.
His heart is quick, but he keeps walking. At the end of the hall, it splits into a T section but against the wall is a bench and chairs. On it sit Ali’i, Ari, and Jaylen, one twin on each side of her with Ari tucked into her side. Cara sits on a chair beside them, talking in low tones.
As Din approaches, they look up. Ari glances at him, then quickly buries her face in her mother’s neck again, hiding. His chest hurts. Ali’i’s helmet tilts down towards the Darksaber before looking up. “Mand’alor,” she says.
Din swallows. “Are you alright?”
“We’re fine,” she says, a bitterness in her voice as her grip on Ari tightens. Din’s stomach twists again, a sense of guilt buried in his bones. “Just fine.”
Cara frowns. She stands up and looks at Din, then steps to the side and walks down the hall. Din follows and they stop just out of earshot.
“This is what the helmets are to you,” Cara says. Her voice has anger in it, but it’s mostly melancholic. “When you said you couldn’t put it back on -- I didn’t… realize what you meant.”
“That it cuts you out,” Din says. “Dar’manda. Lost heritage. Your life… it disappears.”
“Why?” Cara demands.
“This is the Way,” Din says, his voice soft.
Cara stares at him, then lets out a breath. “Aren’t you their leader now?” she asks, looking down at the Darksaber. “The Mand’alor? Doesn’t that give you the power to change that rule?”
Din winces. “I’m only ordered to be Mand’alor,” he says. “And if I had the power to change the outcome -- it doesn’t matter. The meaning behind it doesn’t change. It still happened. She’s still dar’manda.”
“Why not let her stay, though? Helmet or not?”
Din frowns. “Would you want to?” he says. “With your family, but reminded every day that you’re not one of them? Everyone looking at you with pity and only thinking of what was done to you?”
Cara is quiet, just looking at him.
“We don’t always force them out,” Din says. “Not right away. We’ve had people lose their helmets, by force or by choice. They choose to leave anyway, sometimes before we even know. They take the chance they have to start a new life where no one knows their shame.”
“Their shame,” Cara repeats with bitterness. “So what now for her? You all go back to your covert and just leave her here? To find her own way?”
“That’s what… would be expected,” Din says. “It’s excommunication. Cutting them off.”
“That’s cruel,” Cara snaps.
“That’s why I thought she could go with you,” Din says.
Cara pauses and looks at him. “What?”
“She knows how to hunt,” Din says. “She’s got a mind for it, I just never got her enough experience. She just needs a place to stay, someone to keep teaching her. You’re Karga’s enforcer -- you’re usually on Nevarro.”
“I can’t suddenly be her parent,” Cara says. “That’s not…”
“You’ve met Ari,” Din says. “She can parent herself. She’s got the spirit of a Mandalorian no matter what. And hunting has been her dream. All she needs from you is shelter, food and hunting lessons.”
Cara stares at him.
“Please,” he says. “I know it’s more than I should ask of you. But I’m not… we’re not supposed to make arrangements for them after the Creed is broken. To keep in contact. Please. If she’s with you, I’ll know she’s okay. Her parents will know.”
Her face is twisted with discontent but she lets out a breath. “It’d be worse if I just… left her here, too,” Cara says. “Fine. I’ll do what I can for her.”
“Thank you,” Din says. “Everything is… different now.”
“Yeah,” Cara says. “Different.”
“Everything changes.”
“Keep yourself lower,” Luke says. “You’re used to keeping straight to shoot a target but a lightsaber is different. You need to hold yourself like this.”
Din shifts to mirror Luke’s stance, the Darksaber held out in front of him. The weapon thrums in his hands in a display of power. The sun sets behind them, casting an orange glow over the second day of their stay at the castle.
“Good.” Luke straightens, then turns and slashes at him. Din jerks the blade upwards to block it, letting out a tense breath as he holds against Luke’s push. The lightsabers hiss against each other, flickering. “Good--”
He breaks the hold and slashes again at Din’s side. He moves to block again, this time stepping back to sweep the Darksaber around. But there is no hold and in an instant Luke is attacking his other side. It glances against his beskar, creating a hiss and steam before he brings the Darksaber up and pushes the blade away. Beneath his layers, he’s sweating.
“It’s awkward,” Luke says. “Until you’re used to it, you won’t be able to react as fast as you’d need to.”
“How often would I be using this against a jedi?” Din breathes. “What’s the point of learning to fight you?”
“If you can fight me, you can fight anything,” Luke says. He steps back and twirls his saber. “Lightsabers are elegant. Better than any blaster. If you can fight another user, you’ll certainly know how to use your weapon.”
Din looks down at the blade, then looks over his shoulder. Kuiil watches them from several yards away, seated on one of many empty barrels. He’s leaning forward, too small to make out his expression.
Luke looks, too, and his face is weighted with worry. “We--”
Din steps forward and swings the Darksaber.
Luke starts but counters in time. The Darksaber has been getting more comfortable in his hands and he’s quick to slash again, stepping forward, and Luke blocks but is forced back. Din smiles to himself and still moves forward, still on attack.
Until they both strike and the blades lock. They each push hard, Din gaining more ground in the lock by force until Luke twists his saber around. The Darksaber is flung from his hands, landing in the grass as it deactivates, and a green blade is pointed at his chest. Din freezes in place and lets out a breath.
“That was good,” Luke says. “For a few hours, that was good.”
He holds out his hand and the Darksaber lifts off the ground, flying into his grip. He holds it out for Din. Din reaches for it, but Luke doesn’t let go. His expression instead falls serious.
“We need to talk.”
Din frowns. Luke lets go and his arm falls to his side. “About what?”
“About Kuiil.” His voice is soft. “About what happened while we were gone.”
“He’s fine,” Din says. “He said he’s fine. Troopers came but they’re dead.”
“Yeah, they’re dead,” Luke says. “Because Kuiil killed the one who tried to take him.”
Din pauses. It unsettles him to hear it, but he shakes his head. “We’ve taught him to defend himself,” he says. “He knows how to use a knife if he has to. That’s not strange. That’s Mandalorian.”
“Turning a person inside out is Mandalorian?”
Din stares at him. “What… are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how that kid used the Force to completely mutilate a person in a way that’s too horrific for any child,” Luke says. His voice is more forceful. “That’s more than sith. That’s so much anger and fear that I can’t even imagine.”
“How do you know?” Din demands. “You weren’t there.”
“No, but Maz was,” Luke says. “Her word, not mine. She saw it. She said that the trooper was in the air and choking and then he just burst. Kuiil came back covered in blood and guts. He couldn’t speak and she felt the darkness in him.”
For a moment, silence.
“It was… It was self defense,” Din says, but his voice is weaker than before. He closes his eyes. “What else was there…”
He looks back over towards Kuiil, his stomach twisting. Kuiil stares back, then his ears droop.
“It’s not that he defended himself,” Luke says. “It’s what he did for that self defense. Force-choking was one thing. Doing something like this is completely different.” He lets out a breath. “It’s what I’ve been worried about this whole time.”
“Killing Gideon was supposed to solve our problems,” Din mutters.
“It solved one problem,” Luke says. “This is another.”
Din looks down at the Darksaber. “I have to talk to him,” he says. “He… didn’t say a word about it.”
Luke tilts his head to the side. His expression is sad. “You’re his father,” he says. “He wouldn’t want to tell you about something like that.”
Din glances over his shoulder again, feeling sick. Kuiil is still on the barrel, his presence in Din’s mind becoming nervous. He lets out a breath. “I’ll talk to him,” he says.
Luke nods. “I want to speak with him as well, but I think you should do it, first. Sooner, better than later,” he says. He looks behind Din. “... I’ll go. We can continue tomorrow.”
“Alright,” Din mutters.
Luke nods and puts his lightsaber away before he turns and walks off towards the castle. Din closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the sweat against his skin, before he turns and begins to walk back towards Kuiil. The boy watches him, his nervousness growing. Din stops a few feet away.
He then walks over and sits on the barrel beside him.
There’s nothing but silence, thoughts racing. What to say. What to do. There was self defense and there was slaughtering. There was use of force and there was overuse. He didn’t know. What to say, what to do, facing an insurmountable challenge. How to deal with this.
“Buir?”
He looks down at Kuiil, who puts a hand against his leg with tears shining in his eyes. He gets up and begins to climb into Din’s lap, but Din brings up a hand and pushes him back. Kuiil stops and stares at him, sniffling. “Buir--”
“Were you going to tell me?” he asks.
Kuiil falls silent and the tears begin to fall. “I-I,” he chokes, but nothing more when he just looks down, sniffling.
“Kuiil,” he says. “Answer me.”
The boy gives a loud sniff. “I didn’t w-want to,” he whispers. He wipes at his eyes. “I didn’t…”
“You have to tell me these things.” Din looks at him. “Hiding it isn’t going to help. It’s dangerous. Your powers are strong and good but dangerous if things like this happen and you don’t tell us.”
Kuiil stares at his vambraces. Din looks around to see no one near, then lifts his helmet and lets out a sigh, running a hand over his face and through his hair. Then Kuiil looks up, his expression tear-filled.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “He… H-He was going to take me. He almost… we were outside, and the ship, and…”
“I know,” Din says. “I know.”
Kuiil frowns. He climbs forward into Din’s lap again and he doesn’t stop him this time, instead pulling him into his arms and holding on tight. He trembles, and Din just holds tighter, both sitting in silence. The kid’s face buries against his neck, tucked beneath his chin.
“I’m in trouble?” he whispers.
Din doesn’t respond at first, staring at the ground in front of them, a deep discomfort inside him. “Yes,” he finally says. “Because… jahaatir. You kept it from me.”
Kuiil’s breath is hot and shaky against him. “You left me.”
It cuts deep. Din’s breath hitches and he thinks of Luke putting Kuiil to sleep in his arms. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”
For several moments, they only sit in silence. Both take deep breaths.
“I don’t… understand this,” Din says. Kuiil looks up at him. “The Force. I don’t… know what it’s like for you, I can’t feel it. Luke would know this better. But I still want to help you. So you have to tell me, whether it’s good or bad.” He lets out a breath. “Killing a stormtrooper isn’t bad. They can all burn for all we care. It’s the… the implication of how you did it.”
Kuiil sniffs. “It didn’t seem bad,” he says. “It didn’t… it just happened. And it… it was scary.”
“It was scary,” Din says. “And it shouldn’t happen again, not with Gideon gone. But it can’t go like that.” He makes an amused huff. “You’re freaking Luke out.”
The kid manages a smile. “You don’t like Luke.”
“He’s… alright,” Din says. “He was useful.”
Kuiil gives him a push and both smile. The weight in his chest has abated, even if it’s still present. A cool breeze blows past and Kuiil feels calmer, face buried in Din’s shoulder.
“We’ll talk with him and Maz,” Din says. “We’ll figure out what to do. How to do this right. How to help you.” He brushes his thumb over Kuiil’s cheek, wiping away a tear trail. “And everything will be okay.”
“Okay,” Kuiil whispers.
They sit in silence. The breeze feels nice against his face. The warmth of the sun is disappear, sinking over the trees, leaving them in cool shadow. He rubs a hand on Kuiil’s back, both feeling relaxed.
Eventually, Kuiil squirms. He looks down at the Darksaber. “You’re Mand’alor,” he mumbles.
“Yes,” Din says.
“You said it was important.”
“It… is.”
“So you’re leader now?”
Din nods with a hesitant expression.
“What now?”
He shifts. “We send… I send out a call to the other Mandalorians in the galaxy,” he says. “We’re all sworn to obey that call. The Darksaber lends legitimacy to it. We unite our people and go from there. Try to rebuild ourselves.”
“More Mandos,” Kuiil mumbles.
“Yeah. A lot more, hopefully.”
The kid lets out a breath, then snuggles closer, eyes shut. Din keeps his hand on his back, then reaches over and lifts his helmet, slipping it back on. He leans back against the castle wall and takes a deep breath. Around the corner, there are the sound of Mandalorian voices, too muffled to make out identities or words.
“We’re safe,” he mumbles. He relaxes for the first time in months.