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Bo Katan Kryze wanted to be a warrior.
Wasn’t that what it meant to be truly Mandalorian? She couldn’t accept the fakeness her family promoted as being really Mandalorian. When Satine came home from boarding school, her accent had changed. She spoke differently, faking a new Coruscantii accent. Bo Katan hated it. It felt like her sister had been erased by the core-world boarding school and replaced with a dar’manda puppet. But when she raised her concerns (the right way, without insulting Satine to her face), she had been dismissed. Ad’buir had scolded her for using the wrong words and hadn’t even heard what she was trying to say.
Instead, he was proud of Satine! Proud of her for sounding like a core-worlder. Satine had glowed with pride and then yelled at Bo Katan for trying to exorcise her.
Admittedly, there was probably no good way for Satine to react to being doused in freezing living water, but Bo Katan’s sister would have been able to appreciate the attempt to free her from the core-world curse.
Bo Katan had thought, for a moment, that she might have succeeded, because Satine’s new accent had faded and fallen apart when she got angry. But the core-world accent came back quickly, and nothing changed.
So, Bo Katan had left. She was going to be a warrior, and she couldn’t if she got sent to the boarding school that cursed her sister into being a puppet.
Bo Katan wasn’t stupid about it, of course. She knew enough about the world to realize that she needed a lot of credits. She would need to pay for housing, for armor, for weapons, maybe even for training, and she very well may have to bribe people. It seemed to her that it wasn’t a very Mandalorian act to take bribes, almost honorless, but Satine had been talking about corruption and bribes, and so Bo Katan was ready to bribe people if she had to. It was a lot of credits, Bo Katan knew, and she also knew that her family would be angered by her theft, but she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t stay with that fake accent and that fakely smiling face. She couldn’t stay with the fear that she would be cursed in the same way.
It wasn’t just credits that Bo Katan had planned well. She had planned the timing as well. A massive conference had started just as Bo Katan made her move. Satine would be distracted, too distracted to notice Bo Katan missing until it was too late. Ad’buir would be even busier than normal. Bo Katan had long known that she could sneak out and make trouble while a conference or governmental event was happening, as long as it wasn’t traced back to her. And this conference was bigger than any before that Bo Katan could remember. Admittedly, she was only 12, not yet an adult even by Taung standards, but she remembered the last decade better than most might expect. This conference, to vote in Ad’buir as leader of Mandalore, of Manda’yaim, was the biggest yet. It wasn’t just the inhabitants of Manda’yaim who got a say it in, after all. Every single Mandalorian could put in their words, no matter how far from Manda’yaim they were from. Sundari would be a complete mess, even outside of the mayoral palace. No one would be able to search the whole city for her, not even Ad’buir.
Keldabe, on the other hand, was quiet, at least for a city.
Bo Katan luxuriated in it. The people were all wearing traditional Mandalorian clothes and some had small pieces of armor. Most of the conversations she overheard were in Mando’a, as if no one accepted the law that Basic was to be used in public.
There were clear signs of New Mandalorian dominance, but it was mostly propaganda posters, and those were often defaced. There were also peacekeepers in the same non-mandalorian armor as they had in Sundari, but they moved in squads instead of pairs and were much rarer. Bo Katan still avoided them, just in case.
But greatest of all the defiance against New Mandalorian law, was the sound of hammers.
Bo Katan entered a Forge with her heart in her throat. It felt holy to her, and she knew it had to be. The Goran, the armorer, was working at the moment, so Bo Katan just got out of the doorway and stared at the holy art. She had never been allowed to witness this relic of a more brutal time, the holiest of Mandalorian traditions. She had no idea what the Goran was doing, except that a helmet was forming from the mystery of their actions. It was far from complete, Bo Katan thought, since there was no visor-plate in the helmet where the eyes would go. But the Goran seemed to think it was good enough, because they plunged it into some liquid and left it there.
The liquid was still hissing as the Goran turned around.
“Su cuy’gar, verd’ika,” the Goran nodded.
“Su’cuy, Goran,” Bo Katan said nervously. “My name is Bo Katan, and I have come here in the hopes of getting armor.”
The Goran tilted their head slightly.
“Bo Katan. You name is whispered among the Gorane.” The Goran gestured to a table and pair of chairs. “Sit with me, child.”
Obediently, Bo Katan went and sat in one of the chairs. Her mind spun, considering the strange fact that her name was whispered among Gorane. Why was it whispered? Why did they care about her, a twelve-year-old, specifically? Was it because of her family? Was it because they had seen something of her future? The Goran took the other chair. They sat in silence for an agonizingly long time. Bo Katan wanted to say something, anything, even if it was stupid, to break the silence, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. The Goran seemed comfortable in the silence.
“The whispers say you are of Clan Kryze,” the Goran said finally. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” Bo Katan admitted. She knew just enough to be sure she wouldn’t get away with lying to a Goran. Plus, the Gorane were supposed to be keepers of the old ways, so if she couldn’t trust one of them, who could she trust? Her attempt would be doomed to failure if she couldn’t get any advice, no matter how clever she was.
“And you truly wish to become a warrior?” the Goran continued.
“Yes,” Bo Katan confirmed, straightening slightly. “I do.”
“There is a way for you to become a warrior in truth, to be trained and armored and killing,” the Goran explained. “But only one. Most paths before you will not allow you to reach that state of being.”
“I want to be a warrior,” Bo Katan stated firmly. “If that is the only path, it is the path I will take.”
“It will be long and hard,” the Goran warned.
“I don’t care,” Bo Katan insisted.
“Your family will hate you,” the Goran warned.
“I know,” Bo Katan agreed. She didn’t like it, but she had long ago accepted that this was the truth.
“Then you will stay here, until your new trainers arrive,” the Goran said. “You are still too young for armor, but you will earn it soon.”
Bo Katan smiled. She might be too young for armor, but that was a Goran saying it. A Goran wouldn’t lie about that. And they promised that she would get armor soon. And training! The Goran was setting up training for Bo Katan. Bo Katan couldn’t wait.
“Please wait here,” the Goran said as they stood. “I will call Tor Vizsla myself.”
“Thank you,” Bo Katan beamed. “Vor entye.”
The Goran vanished further into the Forge, and Bo Katan sat back, satisfied. She was on track to meet all her goals. She was away from her family’s disturbing changes. A Goran was helping her.
And she had no idea what she was getting into.