Night fell hard over the plains of Mandalore. The air was dry, carrying only the faint whisper of wind across the tall grass. Inside the stronghold of Clan Ordo, torches burned low in their sconces, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Kaelen sat cross-legged on his sleeping mat, fiddling with the shard of his father's beskad that Caden had allowed him to keep after a sparring session. The fragment gleamed faintly in the torchlight, heavy for its size, cool to the touch. His mother's voice echoed in his memory from earlier that evening: "The Force flows through every choice." He whispered it to himself, rolling the words over his tongue like a secret.
From the adjoining room, his father's voice rumbled low, conversing with fellow warriors who had come to share drink and reports. Kaelen caught bits of Mando'a: "Dar'manda" spoken with disgust, "Jatne" said with admiration. He knew enough to understand they were talking about Death Watch. The name prickled the back of his neck. Death Watch were like the monsters in his mother's old bedtime stories—wolves that prowled at the edge of firelight, never seen until it was too late.
Caden's laugh cut through the conversation, hearty and fierce, but it didn't comfort Kaelen as it usually did. Tonight, the laugh carried a sharp edge. The boy set down the shard and crawled onto his mat, pulling his blanket tight. Outside, the stars blazed cold and clear, and for reasons he could not name, Kaelen felt watched.
The sound came like thunder tearing the sky apart. Explosions cracked in the distance, rattling the shutters of the stronghold. Shouts rose in Mando'a. Armor clanged. The ground trembled under a concussive blast that lit the walls red through the windows. Kaelen jerked upright as smoke seeped under the door.
His father burst in, already clad in full beskar'gam, helmet snapping into place with a hiss. The T-shaped visor glowed faintly in the dim torchlight. "Kaelen, with your mother. Now." His voice was the deep, mechanical growl of a Mandalorian warrior. No warmth, no hesitation—only command.
"C-cuyir darasuum?" Kaelen stammered. Are we safe?
"Ni guuror." I promise.
Caden's gauntlet pressed Kaelen's shoulder firmly, then shoved him toward the hall. Elira appeared, her robe thrown hastily over her sleepclothes, eyes wide but calm. She scooped Kaelen into her arms even as the walls shook from another blast.
"Death Watch," Caden growled. "They've come."
The stronghold gates thundered with impacts. Outside, the air filled with shouts—"Par te Manda'lor!"—as Death Watch warriors screamed their loyalty, blasters igniting the night. Blue-and-gray armored figures swarmed through the outer defenses, their jetpacks roaring, flames trailing in the darkness.
Caden drew his rifle and slung it over his shoulder, beskad gleaming in his gauntleted grip. "Get him to the lower chambers," he barked at Elira. "Seal the vault if you must."
Elira's jaw tightened. "And you?"
He gave her a look through the visor, unflinching. "I hold the line."
Before Elira could reply, the gates buckled. Metal screeched as they blew inward, a fireball consuming the entrance. Death Watch warriors surged through, firing blaster bolts in controlled bursts. Clan Ordo fighters roared back, their voices a thunderous mix of Mando'a curses and battle cries.
"Aliit ori'shya tal'din!" Family is more than blood!
The courtyard became a storm of plasma and steel. Kaelen clutched his mother's neck as she ran, his eyes wide with terror. His father charged into the fray, beskad flashing, blaster bolts sparking off his armor. He cut down one attacker with a brutal strike, parried another's vibroblade, and shouted orders in Mando'a. His presence was a wall of defiance against the tide.
"Father!" Kaelen cried, reaching back as Elira dragged him toward the stairwell.
Caden didn't turn, didn't falter. His beskad whirled, sparks flying, the enemy pressing from all sides. Elira pulled Kaelen into the shadowed stairwell, down into the stronghold's underbelly. Stone walls closed in as they descended, muffling the screams and the clash of battle above.
They entered the vault chamber, a reinforced bunker lined with crates of supplies and weapons. Elira set Kaelen down and sealed the heavy door behind them, her hands shaking but her face determined.
Kaelen pressed against the wall, trembling. "We have to help him!"
Tears glimmered in her eyes, but she forced her voice steady. "Your father is helping us by fighting. Our duty is to survive."
The door boomed with distant impacts. Dust rained from the ceiling. Kaelen's breath came in sharp gasps. He felt something then—something beyond the stone walls, beyond the blaster fire. A current, invisible but undeniable, flowing through him. His fear sharpened it. The air seemed to hum.
"Mother," he whispered, "the voices."
Elira froze. "What voices?"
"I hear them," Kaelen insisted. "In the dark. Like… whispers. Not Mando'a. Not Basic. Something else."
Her eyes widened. For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to ask more—but the vault door buckled with a deafening crash. Sparks sprayed from the hinges. Elira whirled, pulling Kaelen behind her.
The door split, torn open by a shaped charge. Smoke poured in as armored silhouettes filled the entrance. Death Watch. Their visors glowed like predators in the night.
Elira stepped forward, arms spread. "You will not touch him!"
One of the warriors laughed, his voice muffled through the helmet. "A scholar thinks she can stand against warriors?" His Basic was harsh, tinged with accent.
Elira's hand shot out. The nearest crate toppled, slamming into two raiders with bone-crunching force. For a heartbeat, Kaelen saw his mother wreathed in light, her will stronger than stone.
The Death Watch captain snarled. "She's no scholar. She's cursed with Jedi tricks!"
Blaster bolts erupted. Elira raised her arms, but she had no weapon, no armor. One bolt grazed her side, spinning her to the floor. She screamed but forced herself up again, standing between Kaelen and death.
Kaelen's terror ignited into something more. The air roared in his ears, his chest burned, and with a scream he thrust out both hands. A wave of invisible force exploded from him, hurling three attackers into the walls. Crates splintered, weapons clattered. The raiders cursed in Mando'a.
"Kaysh mirsh solus!" He's alone in the head!
The captain aimed his rifle at Kaelen. Elira threw herself into the shot. The bolt struck her chest, and she fell across her son, her blood hot against his skin.
"No!" Kaelen's voice cracked, raw, primal. The Force surged again, shattering the remaining crates, sending fragments flying like shrapnel. Death Watch staggered back, momentarily repelled. The captain cursed and pulled his men out, calling for explosives to bring the chamber down.
Elira gasped, her hand trembling as she touched Kaelen's face. "Live… Kaelen. For both of us. The Force… flows through you…"
Her eyes closed. Her hand slipped away.
Kaelen sobbed, clutching her still body as the chamber shook from detonations overhead. Dust and fire rained down. The boy crawled, dragging himself toward a hidden escape vent his father had once shown him. He shoved himself inside, crawling through the narrow tunnel as the vault collapsed behind him.
He emerged into the night, choking on smoke. The stronghold burned, towers crumbling, the air filled with screams and fire. He saw his father in the courtyard, beskar cracked and bleeding from a dozen wounds. Caden still fought, his beskad cleaving down another warrior.
"Father!" Kaelen cried, his voice hoarse.
Caden's helmet turned toward him for just an instant. Through the visor's black slit, Kaelen felt his father's eyes—fierce, proud, unbroken.
Then the Death Watch captain drove a blade through Caden's chest. The Mandalorian warrior roared, swung once more, and fell.
Kaelen's world shattered.
He ran. He didn't know where, only away—from fire, from death, from the horror that had claimed everything he loved. His bare feet pounded the dirt, tears blurring his sight. Behind him, the stronghold of Clan Ordo collapsed in flame, its banners burning to ash.
The plains opened before him, endless and merciless. He stumbled into the tall grass, clutching the beskad shard still in his hand. He ran until his legs gave out. He crawled until his arms failed. Finally, he collapsed beside a riverbank, the current rushing cold and black under the moons.
Whispers filled his ears—strange tongues he did not know. Some soft, some harsh. One sounded like his mother, another like a warrior calling from beyond. He pressed his face to the earth and wept until the river's edge crumbled beneath him.
The flood took him.
Water swallowed his cry as the current dragged him away, tumbling him into darkness. His small body spun, battered, pulled downstream. The beskad shard glinted once before sinking, torn from his grasp.
As Kaelen lost consciousness, the voices grew louder. Not Basic. Not Mando'a. Words ancient and alien, carried on the tide.
And somewhere in the current of the Force, unseen, destiny stirred.