Chapter Text
‘Dying is easy, being a survivor, is hard.’
Mandalore was gone. Destroyed in the explosion caused by the battle.
Those surviving the destruction of their intended and former home world were licking their wounds in the shelter once offered by Greef Karga on Nevarro for them. Back on the grounds they had hoped to leave behind. Alas, here they were.
The survivors.
Some of them being of the opinion they never should have left and tried to get Mandalore back in the first place. Hindsights and all that. But the murmurs were present still present. The discontent of several members voiced louder than they should have, soon reaching those considered their leaders.
The Armorer and Bo-Katan Kryze.
They had paid the highest of prices with their dearest of blood during the battle against the imperial remnants. Moff Gideon’s forces.
Surprised in having found them on the planet in the first place. It was supposed to have been destroyed, barren even. But the imperials, ex or otherwise were nothing if not resilient. Like cockroaches never to be destroyed.
Having lost some of their best warriors. Paz Vizsla among the fallen.
They were all to be honoured as soon. The fallen.
For now though, the surviving tribe members were settling in. Huddled in the darkened night in their makeshift camp. Taking care of their wounded. Which there were plenty of. The healing process of both body and mind only able to start after the ceremony was held and the tribes being able to mourn for their dead.
And so now, they needed to concentrate on their wounded and regroup the best they could. The danger still lurking out there, soon most likely to raise its ugly head. And so they all needed a break to list their options and resources available before heading back to another battle.
As there would be more to come, that was true to every single surviving Mandalorian. The war far from over.
The low, complaining noises of the badly hurt the only sounds in the darkening night.
Greef Karga thankfully having sent two droids and medical aid to the Mandalorian’s camp. Those able tending to the wounded. Thankfully though, their foundlings had been securely on Nevarro during the battle, having joined the returning warriors.
Unfortunately there were several orphans left behind due to the unforeseen losses. They would be cared for that much was sure. But their psychological scars of loosing a parent would take time to heal even if they would all be adopted by other members of the tribe. As it was the way.
Bo glanced around the silent camp. Her anger and hatred growing.
She had been so sure she could bring the clans, the tribes back together. Reunite all their people. And that they would be able to regain Mandalore. To make it flourish somehow once again. That was the prophecy right? The reason she had seen the Mythosaur?
How wrong she had been. It had all been for naught.
All that remained now was death and destruction. The Empire once again winning even if it was supposed to be no more. How wrong had they all been.
As evil always found a way to prevail. Or so it seemed, in the darkest moment of the Mandalorian camp. In the mind of the once so proud Princess, Bo-Katan Kryze.