Chapter Text
Over the years, Din had built an impressive reputation as a bounty hunter. Completing more missions than most of his peers, he quickly established himself as one of the Guild’s most dependable assets, even in his early days. His remarkable track record earned him high-profile assignments, bringing in far more credits than most other guild members. This success enabled him to acquire the Razor Crest, a durable and reliable starship that allowed him to take on more ambitious missions. With the Razor Crest at his disposal, Din could now accept bounties that required extended space travel—like his current pursuit on the planet Zeltros.
The target was a cunning Quarren known for frequenting bars and casinos across various planets, making him notoriously difficult to track. Din’s intel indicated that the fugitive had recently been spotted in the neon-lit bars of Zeltros, a planet infamous for its vibrant nightlife.
Greef Karga, the Guild’s master and one of Din’s staunchest supporters, had a particular fondness for him. He valued Din’s skill and consistency, often entrusting him with challenging tasks. For this mission, Greef had urged caution. The Quarren had a knack for vanishing at the first sign of danger, so Greef advised Din to avoid drawing attention by showing up in full armor.
“If you stroll in looking like you’re ready for a fight, he’ll see you coming and bolt,” Greef had warned. After months of evading capture, the fugitive had developed a keen sense for danger, and Din couldn’t afford to let him escape.
As the Razor Crest touched down on Zeltros, Din adjusted his black cape, ensuring it draped fully over his body. Normally, his armor and weapons were on full display, but this time he had concealed them beneath the fabric, pulling it over his head to form a makeshift cloak. He was grateful for the cover of night; the darkness would help him blend in more easily.
Stepping out of the Razor Crest, Din moved with quiet purpose toward the bar where his target had last been seen.
The bar’s door slid open with a soft hiss, and Din was immediately enveloped in a wash of neon light that painted the room in vivid shades of pink, blue, and purple. Inside, patrons drank, laughed, and mingled in carefree revelry. Groups clustered around tables, chatting over food and drink, while others danced or swayed to the rhythmic pulse of the music. The atmosphere was lively, a stark contrast to the rugged, no-nonsense cantinas Din was used to—like the one on Nevarro where he often collected his bounties. This place wasn’t about business.
Here, people came to forget—losing themselves in distractions, sensory pleasures, and fleeting moments of joy. But Din wasn’t fooled. Beneath the glamour, it was just another illusion. No matter how brightly the lights shone or how loud the music played, the galaxy’s harsher truths still lingered in the shadows.
The dim lighting and the hum of laughter, clinking glasses, and music worked to his advantage. Moving unnoticed through the crowded space, Din blended in, his black cape draped low to conceal the Beskar armor beneath. To the casual observer, he was just another traveler seeking a drink, perhaps some company. The patrons, absorbed in their own amusement, paid him no mind.
Under ordinary circumstances, a Mandalorian’s presence would have drawn immediate attention. His people were legendary—feared and respected across the galaxy. The mere sight of a Mandalorian helmet could inspire awe or dread, even among Imperials. Though Din had yet to cross paths with them, he preferred to keep it that way. His covert had made it clear: the Empire’s grip on the galaxy was tightening, and they had no tolerance for Mandalorians. Staying in the shadows was safer.
Settling into a chair tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the club, Din let his visor sweep across the room, every movement precise and deliberate. His gaze lingered on each being who passed, vigilant for any sign of his target.
As Din continued his quiet surveillance, a nearby conversation caught his attention. From behind him, he overheard the voices of three women.
“I told you this was a massive waste of time and energy,” one said, her voice laced with frustration. “You know I’m not in the mood for this.”
“Come on, Bo,” another replied, her tone more playful, sounding younger. “It’s better than lying around sulking all day. You know that won’t change anything. Just let go, at least for tonight.”
Din smirked inwardly. Lying around and sulking actually sounded far more appealing than enduring the relentless noise and chaotic energy of this place. The pounding music alone was enough to give anyone a headache.
As if reading his mind, the first woman responded, her voice sharp with irritation. “Lying around would’ve been more tolerable than enduring this chaos. This noise is giving me a headache already.”
Din stiffened, his smirk fading. She had voiced his exact thoughts—word for word.
“This place is perfect for meeting new people,” the third voice chimed in, more upbeat. “Who knows? You might meet someone handsome. They say Zeltros is where people find their soulmate, bound together by the Force.”
Din barely suppressed a scoff. Soulmates? Bound by the Force? What even was the Force? That sounded like the kind of myth meant for children, not something a grown warrior took seriously.
“That sounds like something only a child would believe,” the woman called Bo muttered, once again echoing Din’s private thoughts with unsettling accuracy. Twice now. Strange.
“You know what, Bo? Just trust us, okay?” the third woman coaxed gently. “We’ll get some drinks. Just wait here—and don’t run off, alright?”
The sound of retreating footsteps followed, leaving behind a sigh of exasperation from the woman they had left alone. The pulse of music and laughter swelled again, drowning out the voices, but something about the exchange lingered.
Din felt an odd stirring of curiosity. Without thinking, he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder.
He saw a woman, her entire form draped in a rich red cloak adorned with intricate gold engravings along the borders. From his vantage point, her face was hidden, obscured by the hood that cast a shadow over her features. The cloak’s elegant design stood out in the otherwise raucous setting, an unusual sight in a place like this. She seemed out of place, yet entirely composed in the chaos around her.
Shaking himself from the momentary distraction, Din turned his attention back to the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to lose focus—not now. His target, the Quarren, could be anywhere in this crowd, and if he let himself get sidetracked, the bounty might escape him.
Din refocused, his visor scanning the crowd, watching beings move in and out of the bar.
Then, finally, he spotted his target. The Quarren sat at one of the bar stools, casually sipping his drink while chatting with a Twi’lek woman. He appeared relaxed, unaware of the danger closing in. Din stood up, ready to move. But just as he took his first step, the Quarren’s eyes flicked in his direction and locked onto Din’s visor. The realization was instant, and the Quarren bolted from his seat, knocking his drink over in a frantic rush to escape.
Din’s hand instinctively hovered over his blaster, but he quickly realized shooting in such a crowded place would be reckless. One wrong shot could injure or even kill a civilian, something Din couldn’t bear. The risk of collateral damage was too high.
Thinking fast, Din recalled the layout of the bar. The exit the Quarren was heading toward looped back around to where Din had entered earlier—he could cut him off there. With that plan in mind, Din moved swiftly toward the other door, hoping to intercept his target before he got away.
Just as he neared the exit, Din suddenly collided with someone. His momentum was halted as he looked down to see the woman in the red cloak—the same woman he had overheard earlier.
She looked up at him, her hood slightly falling back, allowing the dim neon lights of the bar to illuminate her face. For a moment, Din forgot about the chase. The woman’s features were striking, almost ethereal, her green eyes wide with what seemed like recognition? Din wasn’t sure. Her gaze wasn’t one of fear.
He told himself to snap out of it. There was no time to dwell on this. His target was slipping away.
“Sorry,” Din muttered hastily, sidestepping the woman and refocusing on the task at hand.
The Quarren was still running, weaving through the crowd and pushing people aside in his desperate attempt to escape. Din wasn’t about to let him get away. He needed this bounty. After everything he had lost, including the massive amount of credits he had spent on repairs for the Razor Crest, he couldn’t afford to fail. This job would help him recoup some of those losses, and the last thing he needed was a failure on his record.
Din’s pace quickened as he pursued his quarry, determination hardening his resolve. The Quarren may have outrun other bounty hunters before, but he wasn’t going to outrun a Mandalorian.
The chase led the Quarren into a narrow, dimly lit alleyway, with Din following close behind. The alley’s walls were tall and oppressive, and after a few sharp turns, they reached a dead end. The Quarren spun around, now cornered, with no clear escape route.
Din calmly advanced, drawing his blaster and activating a bounty puck. A holo-projection of the Quarren’s face flickered to life, casting an eerie blue light on the alley walls. Din raised his blaster, its barrel pointed directly at his target.
“I can bring you in warm,” Din said, his voice steady, “or I can bring you in cold.”
But instead of fear, the Quarren laughed—a loud, mocking sound that echoed off the narrow alley walls.
“They really think sending a Mandalorian would be enough to catch me?” the Quarren sneered, his tentacle-like facial appendages twitching with amusement.
Din’s instincts kicked in—something was wrong. The alley was too quiet, too isolated. Then, out of the shadows, figures began to emerge. Sentients of various species, hidden in the darkness, stepped forward one by one. Din quickly scanned his surroundings, trying to assess the situation. Five? No—six, seven? His visor’s display counted. There were ten of them, including the Quarren. This was a trap, and he’d walked straight into it.
The Quarren smiled smugly, folding his arms. “What now, Mandalorian? You’re outnumbered, ten to one.”
Din’s grip on his blaster tightened, but his response was calm and collected. “I like those odds.”
Without hesitation, he fired, taking out the two closest to the Quarren with precise shots. The suddenness of his attack caught the group off guard, but they quickly recovered and rushed at him. Blaster fire erupted from all directions, but Din’s Beskar armor deflected the shots, giving him the upper hand. He moved with deadly efficiency, dodging strikes, countering attacks, and returning fire. The alley was narrow, but Din used it to his advantage, bottlenecking his attackers and preventing them from overwhelming him all at once.
Though the gang lacked skill, they compensated with sheer numbers. Din dispatched several of them with ease, but his situation grew more complicated when one of them attacked from above. As he engaged a foe in close combat, he noticed too late the figure leaping from the rooftop above him, weapon raised and ready to strike. Din had no time to dodge or defend against the incoming blow.
Before the attacker could land his hit, a blaster shot rang out, hitting the assailant squarely in the chest. The enemy crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Din quickly turned to see where the shot had come from. His eyes widened in surprise. Standing at the entrance to the alley was the woman from the bar—the one in the red cloak. Her hood was down now, revealing her face fully illuminated by the faint alley lights. Her red hair cascaded down her shoulders, and in her hand, she held a blaster, smoke still rising from the barrel of the gun she had just fired.
For a brief moment, Din was stunned. Who was this woman? And why was she helping him? But there was no time to figure that out—more attackers were coming.
As the remaining gang members charged, the woman leaped into action. Now that there were two of them, the odds were more evenly matched. Din watched in amazement as she moved with lethal precision. Not only was she a crack shot, picking off targets with swift accuracy, but she was also skilled in hand-to-hand combat. She fought with fluid, graceful movements, disarming one opponent and knocking another unconscious with a swift kick. All while wearing a dress and heels.
Din found himself fighting back-to-back with her, both of them perfectly in sync. He shot down two more of the attackers while she took down another with a quick jab to the throat, spinning around to kick a blaster out of another’s hand.
The two of them worked as if they had trained together for years, each move complementing the other. Each of them covering the other’s blind spots, taking down enemies with coordinated efficiency.
Din was impressed, and as they dispatched the last of the thugs, he couldn’t help but wonder who this mysterious woman was. She had skills that were far beyond that of a casual passerby. The way she fought, the way she handled herself in the heat of battle, made Din believe she had seen more than her fair share of combat.
The Quarren bounty now trembled in fear, his confidence shattered as he realized his comrades stood no chance against Din and the mysterious woman. Desperation flashed in his eyes, and he made a frantic attempt to escape. But before he could take more than a few steps, the woman fired a well-placed shot, hitting him squarely in the back. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he could flee any farther.
Meanwhile, Din had just eliminated the last of the Quarren’s allies. With the fight over, the alley fell into an eerie quiet. He approached the downed bounty, checking to make sure the Quarren was truly unconscious. He was out cold—there would be no more running for him.
Din turned his attention to the woman, who had already holstered her blaster with an easy, practiced motion. She stood there, casual and composed, as if the skirmish had been nothing more than a brief distraction. Her blue dress, flowing elegantly despite the rough setting, stood in sharp contrast to the fallen bodies littering the ground.
Their eyes met, and Din gave a curt nod. “Thank you for your help,” he said, his voice steady but appreciative.
A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “You’re welcome,” she replied, stepping closer to him with a confident stride. “But I didn’t help you for free, you know.”
Din had expected this. No one jumped into a fight like that without wanting something in return. “I know,” he said evenly, as he hoisted the unconscious Quarren over his shoulder. “I’ll pay you back,” he added, starting to walk toward his ship. “But not in the form of credits.”
She fell into step beside him, her gaze lingering on him with a curious glint. “I don’t need credits,” she said with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying the exchange. Her eyes darted to the Quarren draped over his shoulder before returning to Din. “You’ve got a ship, don’t you? You’ll need it to transfer this bounty.”
Din hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not to answer. He owed her, that much was true, and withholding information now wouldn’t do him any favors. “Yes, I do,” he finally admitted, though his tone was guarded.
“Great,” she said, her grin widening as if this was exactly the answer she’d expected. “Then in exchange for saving your life back there, how about you drop me off somewhere?”
Din cast a sideways glance at her, though she couldn’t see his expression behind the helmet. “Where?” he asked, his voice flat but laced with curiosity.
She paused for a moment, as if she hadn’t already thought it through. “Hmm… let’s see… how about Carlac?”
Din’s brows furrowed beneath the helmet at the mention of Carlac.
Carlac? That planet had seen better days. It was practically dead, its only village scorched to ruins in the aftermath of conflict. What business could she possibly have there? But Din kept his thoughts to himself. It wasn’t his place to pry. His duty was simple—he owed her a favor, and once it was done, they would part ways. No need to get involved in anything more complicated than that.
“Fine,” he relented, his voice carrying a note of reluctance. He shifted the weight of the Quarren and cast her a sidelong glance. “But didn’t you have friends with you?”
The woman raised a brow, a teasing smirk returning. “How did you know I have friends here?” she asked, her tone playful, almost challenging. “Were you checking me out in the bar earlier?”
Sharp. She was more perceptive than he had expected. “No,” he answered evenly. “I noticed you and your friends when I was tracking this.” He nodded toward the unconscious Quarren, his tone neutral, deflecting the accusation.
She shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Well, they’re still out there partying,” she said lightly. “I’m sure they won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Din’s voice dropped in dry observation. “Some friends you’ve got. Seems like the kind who’d leave you behind in the next ten years or so.”
The teasing glint in her eyes vanished, her expression tightening as she crossed her arms defensively. “Excuse me?” she snapped. “Someone who clearly has no friends has no right to talk about having any.”
Din felt the words hit harder than they should have. She wasn’t wrong. His life had long been one of isolation, and he’d made his peace with it. Friends were a luxury in a galaxy this unforgiving—one he couldn’t afford. They could betray you, abandon you when things turned bleak. Or worse, you could lose them entirely. And in his line of work, losing someone could break you. No attachments. No risks.
He had the Razor Crest. His armor. The Creed. That was enough.
“Not everyone needs friends,” Din finally said, his voice calm but distant, as if the statement was more fact than belief.
She looked at him then, her initial irritation softening into something more thoughtful. For a moment, she studied him as if trying to understand what kind of man could live without needing anyone else. But instead of pressing the topic, she simply exhaled, a quiet sigh that felt almost… understanding.
“What’s your name?” she suddenly asked, catching Din off guard.
He didn’t answer immediately, the question hanging in the air as they walked. Why did it matter to her what his name was? They would part ways soon enough, and his name wasn’t something he cared to share with just anyone. His life had taught him the value of anonymity, and there were parts of himself he preferred to keep hidden.
So he remained silent, hoping she’d drop the topic. The woman seemed to pick up on his reluctance.
“Prefer being mysterious, huh?” she muttered, almost as if speaking to herself. “Is that why you keep the helmet on?”
Din didn’t respond. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d stop talking.
Unfortunately, silence only seemed to encourage her.
“Okay, I get it,” she continued, her voice light, almost playful. “You’re the strong, silent type. Gotta keep your identity hidden—can’t risk letting anyone know who you really are.” She gave a knowing nod, as if she’d unraveled some great mystery. “You keep your secrets,” she added with a smirk, “and I’ll keep mine.”
That last remark made him pause, a flicker of suspicion stirring in his gut.
Secrets?
He turned his head slightly, his voice edged with caution. “What do you mean, ‘secrets’?”
The woman glanced back at him, her green eyes glinting with mischief. “Why should I tell you?” she replied, the teasing lilt returning to her voice as she stepped ahead of him, moving with that same casual confidence.
The Razor Crest loomed in view at the end of the path, but Din barely noticed. His focus lingered on her—on the way she spoke, the way she moved. There was something deliberate about it. Calculated.
But whatever it was, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
And he didn’t plan to.
She paused at the foot of the ship, her gaze sweeping over the Razor Crest with visible awe. “This is yours?” she asked, her curiosity sounding genuine for the first time.
Din didn’t bother with words. Instead, he pressed a button on his wrist control. With a low mechanical hum, the ship’s ramp began to lower. The woman’s eyes widened slightly as she watched the ramp descend, a soft whistle of appreciation escaping her lips.
“Impressive,” she murmured, stepping closer. Her hand brushed the outer hull with a look of admiration. “Didn’t think you’d have something like this. Solid ship,” she added, running her fingers along the walls as she entered, barely giving Din a chance to step in first. “Must’ve cost a fortune.”
Din exhaled, already feeling his patience fray. She was acting far too familiar, wandering the ship as if it belonged to her, examining everything with an audacity that grated on him. Ignoring her commentary, he moved straight to the cargo hold, where he secured the unconscious Quarren in carbonite. The process was efficient, routine—within moments, the bounty was iced and ready for transport.
When he returned to the cockpit, his irritation only deepened.
She was already there.
Standing at the control panel, her fingers hovered over the switches and levers, as if trying to puzzle out how the ship operated.
“Hey.”
Din’s voice was sharp as he strode over, catching her wrist mid-reach. “Who told you you could touch anything on this ship?”
She blinked at him, then raised her hands in mock surrender, lips curling into a smirk. “Cold,” she said, backing away a step. “I wasn’t trying to fly it. Relax.”
Din’s frown deepened. His voice remained firm. “Stop touching things.”
She sighed dramatically but made no move to leave the cockpit. Instead, she muttered under her breath, though loud enough for him to catch: “If you knew who I am, you wouldn’t be ordering me around like that…”
Din’s head snapped toward her, his visor locking onto her with sudden intensity. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing,” she replied quickly, rolling her eyes as she dropped into the co-pilot’s seat with an exaggerated huff. She glanced around the cockpit, her gaze lingering on the interior with mild disappointment. “This thing doesn’t have seatbelts? That’s against the safety code. What if you have to carry a kid or something?”
Din stared at her, caught off guard by the absurdity of the question. “Why would I be carrying a child?” His voice was flat, perplexed. He was a bounty hunter. His life revolved around targets, missions, danger. The idea of transporting a child on the Razor Crest felt completely out of place in the harsh, solitary world he knew.
She shrugged, her expression unreadable. “You never know. Things happen.”
Din chose not to respond, turning back to the control panel as he powered up the ship. The engines rumbled to life, filling the cockpit with a steady vibration. She was just a passenger—one he owed a favor to, nothing more.
Still, as the ship lifted off, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that this woman was more than she seemed.
And though he wouldn’t admit it, her presence unsettled him in a way few things ever had.