For Shepard, it returned in dreams gunfire in the night, comrades dying in the mud, the bitter sting of being the one left standing. Fiction had once been his refuge, the only escape from the endless cycle of grief. Now, in a galaxy far from Earth, fiction had become reality.
His new life began with the cries of a newborn echoing through the stronghold of Clan Fett. The air was filled with the scent of forge smoke and iron, the sound of armored boots, and the soft words of a mother soothing her child. Shepard Fett had been reborn. Elder brother to the boy who would one day be called Jango.
Even as an infant, Shepard's body carried the legacy of two worlds: the resilience of Captain America, the strength and instincts of Master Chief. His mind, however, remained his own a soldier's discipline bound by memory and purpose.
Mandalore was not a world of peace. Its people were warriors, forged by generations of conflict. Children were taught the blade as soon as they could walk, and honor was earned in sweat and blood.
Shepard thrived. He grew quickly, taller and stronger than his peers, but never arrogant. He sparred with the other children, guiding them rather than humiliating them. He protected Jango fiercely, watching his younger brother's skills sharpen year by year.
"Strength is nothing without honor," Shepard often told him after training sessions beneath the pale glow of Mandalore's twin moons. "We fight for family. For clan. That's what makes us Mandalorian."
Jango listened, his youthful fire tempered by Shepard's calm resolve. The brothers became inseparable, their bond unshakable.
But Shepard carried a secret.
Deep within the Fett stronghold, hidden beneath stone and steel, he had discovered something impossible: a device from beyond the stars. To others, it looked like an advanced forge-tool, perhaps some forgotten relic. To Shepard, it was far more—a 3D nanite printer, a creation engine disguised as Mandalorian tech.
When fed with raw material, it could craft anything Shepard could imagine. Blasters, vibroblades, armor stronger than traditional beskar. He worked in silence, learning its limits, designing equipment inspired by the heroes of his old life. Shields of unbreakable alloy. Armor infused with the power of Mjolnir.
For now, it was a hidden weapon. One Mandalore wasn't ready to see.
But Shepard knew the storm that was coming. Mandalore's fragile alliances would soon shatter into civil war. Death Watch lurked in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike.
Shepard would be ready. He had a brother to protect. A clan to preserve. And a people to unify.
For the first time in a long time, Shepard felt purpose.
This time, we don't fall.