Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was getting harder to breathe.

Dust had been kicked up when Cal crashed his stolen speeder, but the thick air wasn’t just his fault, along the equator of Caamas pollution hung in the air, and though much of the planet was swamp land, this region was a desert, it provided stable ground that lent itself to densely populated areas, even if the empire had emptied neighbourhoods and created issues with overpopulation and islands of ghost towns within the sprawling city. As the sun rose in the sky and the heat of the day set in, the winds rose too.

Swirling eddies trailed by his ankles, caressed his knees, and scraped his cheeks. BD chirped his annoyances at the grit and scanned the soil composition for rust accelerants with dismay.

Somewhere ahead, he could feel Merrin in the force, and somewhere behind, but gaining on him steadily was Fett.

Cere and Greeze were off world. They had been tagged for a supply run for the resistance and while they were away, Merrin and he had been left behind to explore the Zeffo ruins at their leisure and to help the native population of Caamasi, Bothans and Ithorian’s as they could. 

They hadn't been worried at all at the time, even knowing the empire had a massive operation running in the northern hemisphere.

He was a bit worried now.

When Fett showed up, ostensibly to collect the bounty on Cal's head, they had managed to put him off until they had helped evac some of the locals that had fled from the marshes towards the desert in their escape from the storm troopers that evicted their town.

After Boba had helped, Cal had managed to slip away, he hadn’t thought his injury was that bad when he gave Fett the slip, but his opinion had changed when he crouched over the hoverbike to steer and felt a searing pain at his side. He had no more stims on hand, having used them all on the refugees, but he knew they would do no good for him at the moment anyway, since the shrapnel causing his wounds was still embedded in him.

Cal walked as long as he could towards the nearest city, trying to reach Merrin, but when his path led him to a set of stairs, he could go no further. Merrin was near enough to find him anyway. With BD’s worried coos and encouragements ringing along the streets Cal fell to his knees resting for a while. Blinking and blind in the sunlight, he fought the hazy edges of his vision but still pain and lightheadedness encroached. 

BD jumped from his harness to begin running scans, but could do nothing else. From the top of the stairs Merrin sets eyes on him and in a green swirl fazes to him. Finally, Cal slumps to the ground and Merrin pulls his head into her lap. She holds his shoulders and green wisps trace his body. Looking to the alley ahead of her, her glare locks on the buy’ce of the Mandalorian sauntering in their direction.

“Fett, it’s been a while, how’d you get off Ithor?” Cal asked, as though they were old friends, and not bounty-and-hunter.

“With difficulty,” crackled the reply, “you look tired of running, and this time, there is nowhere to jump.”

“Where’ve you been all this time, it’s been so long I was starting to think you had given up.” Merrin noted.

“That’s not how this works.” Fett responded. 

“And how does this work, do you call us in, tell an inquisitor you’ve tracked us, or is this the bit where we get disintegrated?” 

“No one’s going to disintegrate you Kestis, and as it turns out, I’m not turning you in either.”

“You expect us to believe that?” 

“Believe it or don’t,” Fett spoke, he walked up to the pair with a confident swagger and bent forwards at the waist to whisper, “but just between us, I haven’t turned Kenobi in either.” His words rang true in the force, and Cal managed to gape at him in shock. Back at his full height towering over them, his smirk could be heard through the helmet, “Thought that might surprise you.” 

“If you aren’t going to hand us over to the empire, are you going to help?” Merrin asked. 

Boba nodded, then knelt by Cal’s side. He raised his poncho and shirt to look at the shrapnel embedded in his skin and hissed, “where were you planning on going like this?” he asked.

“Our base camp is about six klicks that way,” Cal nodded.

With Cal supported between them, the three moved on, as they walked they passed shelled streets and barren homes, the planet echoed with the loss of life. Nothing grew in the fields they passed, no insects buzzed, no grass softened their dragging steps. The sector of the city they passed through was empty of all living beings. 

When they got back to the main town, Merrin traded Cal her outer robe for his poncho, so he would have a hood to hide his face and hair, while Boba sniped with her about the idiocy of having an infamous face, and memorable hair, and not bothering to keep a disguise handy. The trio snuck past trooper patrols and were nearly back to their safe house when crowds began to clog the streets. 

The local dialect wasn’t anything they spoke, but looking up, beyond the bright haze of the planet’s afternoon sun, star destroyers hung en masse, more joining the armada by the minute. 

Troopers bullied their way down the thoroughfares and shots rang out when citizens harassed them, their demands and questions going unanswered. 

Fighting through the crowds and dodging more and more troopers, they finally made it to the safe house and got indoors.

Cal collapsed on the faded and lumpy sofa built into the wall while Merrin disappeared down the narrow hall into another room and BD zipped from the sofa to the window sill to continue scanning the sky. 

“Do you have a way off planet?” Boba asked once Merrin was back, already digging through the meager first aid kit for sterilizer and tweezers. 

Cal and Merrin shared a look, hesitating to answer but in the end shook their heads in the negative.

“My ship is on the other side of the city, the eastern space port, though it looks like getting off planet will be a challenge,” he offered. 

Merrin was on her knees struggling to tear away Cal’s bloodied shirt when over her shoulder, Boba offered a slim vibro knife. 

She took it with a distracted smile and once the shirt was gone unceremoniously dumped sterilizer on his wounds. Cal’s back was slick with sweat and the fine hairs making a little ‘v’ at the back of his neck curled with it. His normally pale complexion had a distinct grey tinge that wasn't dissimilar to Merrin’s. “I can tell some of these are deep, but once the shrapnel is out we have enough stims for Cal to make it across the city, even if he has to parkour his way there” Merrin said, now digging in his back for warped hunks of durasteel. 

Boba grabbed some gauze from the kit and moved to kneel above Cal’s hips on the couch and wipe away blood, helping Merrin see what she was working on by lighting the torches on his helmet.

With the final long shard drawn out, Cal was shaking in pain and blood rushed out of his wound, soaking into the couch despite Boba putting pressure on the open wound.

Merrin fumbled the stim in her bloodied hands, and it rolled across the sloped floor. As she reached for it, BD screeched warnings, and the sizzling thunder of orbital bombardment and destructive screams of Ithorians rang. 

Fett grabbed her shoulder to pull her close and lay down, his body the shield between her and Cal and the crumbling ceiling of the apartment block. None of them had expected the bombardment, and despite Cal and Merrin’s use of the force the four of them were buried in the building. The force echoed with death upon death and Cal kept on bleeding, until he couldn't stay awake any longer and slipped away into unconsciousness. As he did, alloy pipes he had been keeping suspended fell, skewering through Fett’s thigh, and Cal’s hip.

The bombardment continued, and the building above them settled into its collapsed state, Merrin had been able to preserve enough space that their little cluster wasn't crushed, though they were trapped laying flat on their stomachs, and choking on dust. 

Coughing on debris and blinded by the lights of Fett's helmet, Merrin felt through the force the lives beside her slipping away.

“No, no, no, no, I will not be left alone again” she scrambled to see what she could but had no hope to save them. There was one chance, something she could never have done on her own, something she would never have done when she still had hope for the future, but now, thanks to the esoteric lessons from Dathomir, she could have hope for the past. Looking at the two boys, the young men dying in front of her, she knew she had to act quickly. She picked up the long shard of shrapnel she had pulled from between Cal’s ribs and its edges bit into her hands. She released the seal on Fett’s helmet and he too started to cough on the dust. 

What Merrin was about to do was undoubtedly the most intimate magic she had ever performed, but looking at the pair before her she felt no hesitation. Cal she had only known for eight months, but even in the first moments of speaking to him she had known, he was hers and she was his, what they each were apart was nothing compared to what they were together. With Fett, he had stalked them from planet to planet for six of those months, but though he chased them, he never handed them to the empire. Instead he flirted, and helped them with their treasure hunts, he helped them aid locals, and disrupt the empire’s plans, he bought them dinners in cantinas and let them slip away whenever Cal spooked. Fett felt as dear to her as Cal did, a sameness resonating between them as it did her and Cal. 

Speaking in an ancient tongue, she drew the shard across Fett’s throat, spilling his life blood. The green swirls of the nightsister’s power surged into his body, ripping soul from flesh and holding it stable. She did the same to Cal, flesh tearing like tissue and death coming swiftly to the body. 

BD was screaming protests in his own way, though Merrin still could not understand him, she was trying to learn his language of beeps and clicks, but was far from fluent as of yet. 

“Peace BD, would you like to travel with them?” she asked, her voice ringing with the echoes of her people. “I do not know where we will wake, or when, but I am a witch, and I command the force-I take life now, but I demand survival in another when.”

BD edged toward her in their cramped space, her hand holding the weapon rested heavily on the droid's head, “you have a bright soul, BD, I will hold it for now,” she promised before crushing his circuits and burning the wiring within him. 

With the three dark lights before her, her chanting picked up again. From within crude matter the flare of her soul pulled away from her body, she knew no pain like it, and envied the three before her their deaths. They would never know this feeling, but the ritual demanded the sacrifice of pain and the harvesting of souls. She never would have done it if they weren't already as good as dead, but her revenge was incomplete and she wasn’t ready to die or be without her partners just yet. 

When the harvesting of her own soul was nearly complete, and the pain so intense she yearned to escape it, Merrin spoke the final round of chants once more, with a steady hand, she plunged the shard into her chest, and pierced her heart. As her body fell the luminous lights shuddered and condensed, each one a bright star. The corpses flaked and eroded away with green mists enveloping them. Though the mist lingered in that place, the durasteel and concrete tomb marked by the dark magic it had witnessed, the bodies and lights disappeared. 

Chapter Text

BD powers on to find themselves tucked in the lee of a doorway, Beeeeeeep Booooop they call, but no reply comes. 

Tucked into the trash heaps lining the alley the small droid wanders through BD’s sensors catch on their reflection, Boo trill bee boop! Body contorting and blue light bright to examine itself in the polished metal plating. 

Assured that they suffer no harm from the grey-and-red-and-green-green-green-organic-woman-friend-Merrin using magic on them, BD ventures on. Their is still coated in dust and grit will soon grate his gears, but BD knows red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal has oil and alcohol in one of his belt pouches and he will not let rust corrode BD. 

BD continues zipping from corner to corner, scurrying and hiding as they go; taking every possible opportunity to break into crates they can and trilling happily upon finding stims in one to replenish his supply. Beep Trill Beep Boop

BD doesn't know what is guiding them, sometimes in the long ago past first-friend-Cordova would call him with the force, and sometimes grey-and-red-and-green-green-green-organic-woman-friend would lift him with her powers, this doesn't feel the same as that, it is like their map has a preset destination ahead, even though they check their memory boards, they find nothing similar to this place.

Using a zip line to rise a level through the gloomy slums, BD is knocked from their feet by a snarling akk dog, their sensors hiss and they succeed in shocking their opponent, electrical prong fizzing, Pit Ti Tu Tipt Ti Ti Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu Ti Pip Tu Tuuuuuuut Ti Piiiiiip Tuuuuu Pi Pi 

BD makes their escape, climbing boxes and crates and slipping under a rusted guide rail to a higher walkway. Behind them the yelping-growling-teeth-on-four-legs-rude-organic’s ruckus draws attention. 

BD can feel their destination drawing near, Bwoo? Boo? their blue scanner takes in every detail, when finally they finds what they have been looking for. Bwoo! Bo! Boop-bap! Beep Bee-boop BD scrambles to the side of red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal.

BD nudges their heads together, but red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal does not power up or respond. Beep Beep Be Deep Boop They complain, but BD administers three of the stims they now carry and waits, running a security protocol and guarding their red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal while he reboots. 

red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal moans and blinks his sensors open “BD, little bud, is that you?” red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal groans.

Rolling onto his side, and sitting up, BD crawls into red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal’s lap, blue flare scanning his face and trilling his displeasure at being dusty and his battle prowess fighting yelping-growling-teeth-on-four-legs-rude-organic. 

red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal cradles them and scrubs grit from their lens before reaching into his belt pouch for alcohol cleaner and soft rags.

“I’m so glad you’re ok, BD,” red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal says, “have you got any idea where we are?”

Beep bop boop beep beep beep

“Well, well just have to take a look around, maybe find somewhere to get you an oil bath eh, bud?”

red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal gets to his feet and BD claims their spot on the harness, red-and-white-and-pink-harness-organic-friend-Cal pats them on their head and the pair wander out together into the city's depths.

Chapter Text

Cal hadn't needed to wander far in order to recognize the city they were in, Coruscant, with all its poverty and opulence was fortunately unique in the galaxy. He couldn't see the temple or the senate from here, the bright lights in the force that marked the temple were almost as far away as you could get from his present spot while still being on the same planet. 

He clicked his comm on, testing to see if Merrin would respond, but his communicator only worked over short distances and he was unsurprised to find there was no response. 

“Hey BD, keep an eye out for a relay station, we should at least try leaving a message for Merrin if we get the chance.”

Boop-bap!

In hopes of finding something interesting, something to establish the time they were in at least, Cal started climbing up. The lowest levels of Coruscant were so clogged with fumes that only droids could spend any length of time down there, humanoids like Cal were likely to suffocate with the lack of air in the depths. They were not low enough to worry about that at the moment, but the low levels of oxygen in the air made climbing up a priority. 

The higher they got, the more traffic there was, walkways and entrances to buildings were lit with street lights and the smallest of personalized speed bikes meandered through the narrow passes. 

Junk and grime, the worst and cheapest detritus of the levels above, materials so cheap that not even a scrap yard had value for them formed the shelters of the unfortunate homes that existed here.

None of the wartime propaganda or graffiti littered the walkways, and nothing Cal saw made mention of the sepratist movement either. He wasn't sure if he was simply too deep on the city-planet’s levels to see signs of galactic politics so plainly, or if he was truly so far removed from his own time that it wasn’t an issue yet. 

As Cal and BD slowly explored, with no destination in mind, they continued grabbing what they could from abandoned storage units, and eventually had enough credits that Cal wasn’t worried about having to steal food to eat that night, they could probably also afford a room somewhere not-too-shady, plus an oil bath for BD. 

With that goal in mind, Cal led the way to a public elevator, jumping from level -437 up to -60, hopefully this would yield accommodations in their price range, without being the kind of place that would view a young redheaded human, staying alone, as a prize for human trafficking. 

In Cal’s memories, no natural light had reached level -60, but as he stepped out of the lift, he was shocked to see faint flickers of true sky when he looked up. It was fractured by traffic and the many levels of life above him; a patchwork mosaic through which bright blue peeked. It was shocking to know that whenever they were, this level of the city was still part of the twilight zone. 

“Kark BD, things are looking very strange,” Cal murmured.

Bwoo? Boo?

Cal sought out a holonet cafe that was droid friendly and he and BD spent a third of their accumulated credits on caff, droid cleaning, and high speed holonet access. 

Together they spent hours establishing current events, pouring over press releases from the temple and the senate. There wasn't much to read about the civil unrest in Mandalorian space, that wasn't just the trade guild complaining about the sanctions they were under there. There was almost nothing on Dathomir at all, except for an illustrated collection of myths and legends meant to tell children that Cal paid to download and save. 

Eventually, Cal stretched his hands overhead and cracked his back, letting the knowledge sink in that he hadn't even been born yet in this time. Master Dooku was still a jedi, there were no separatists at all. He had done a quick look into Sheev Palpatine and found a small-time politician based on Naboo with about six articles to his name, but nothing to suggest the threat he would become. 

He had left messages for Merrin and Boba, after learning that BD actually knew the bounty hunters comm code-they weren't sure messages would go through. Their comms were almost 50 years in advance of the present infrastructure afterall, but they were built to outer-rim standards and would piggyback any system they could to function. Plus, if they failed, Cal was confident he could clob together enough scavenged items from this time, he would be able to recreate a system that would work.

Feeling like they had done all they could for the day, Cal and BD cleared out.

Cal began to make his way back towards the lift, certain that he wouldn’t be able to afford any accommodations on present day level -60, and starting to feel the desperate need for sleep, when he was caught by the echoes of the force.

Malice flowed toward him.

His glove free hand shot out to grip the hand rail.

The force clawed its way into him.

His senses flared and Cal no longer heard the flow of traffic moving around him. The calls of street merchants hawking goods, the automated voice of the city security system calling traffic, or BD’s worried beeps and coos.

Within the force echo, Cal stood still behind a cloaked figure. They stood at the railing as well, looking out into the flow of traffic, seeming to look for something, but Cal couldn’t see what. Then just as the echo faded, the figure moved. Confidant steps took them through the crowds, cutting their way like a shark through a shoal. 

The vision faded, and Cal shot forwards, tripping on his own feet and bumping into pedestrians as he went. Their angry shouts followed him, but Cal was focused. He needed to follow that presence. 

It had felt in the force like the dark. It was similar to the feeling of an inquisitor, but worse. The inquisitors he had met had never made any effort to hide themselves. As if shielding their presence in the force was beneath them, the dark side whispering in their ears that they need not cower and hide like prey. They were wrong of course, it wasn’t strength that robbed them of the skill. The figure he had just seen though, Cal had felt him through the echo, blinding rage and seething hatred poured from the figure, but Cal knew-the man had been shielding. If he stood in front of him now, he was confident that he would be unable to feel their control of the force, and that made for a dangerous enemy. 

Of course Cal knew that the Sith had been in hiding for thousands of years before Master Kenobi killed one on Naboo, but he hadn’t thought that he would feel their presence at all. In the back of his mind he had meant to go to Naboo and try to uncover proof of Palpatine's wrongs for the Jedi at some point, but there was no rush, the war was far enough away he was sure he had time. He knew there were no clones on Kamino in this year, and no droid armies in production yet either. 

Cal let the force guide his steps, and as he did he moved onto shuttles and off, jumped down levels and force jumped up to deserted walkways before losing himself in crowds. 

In the financial district, he caught another force echo. 

He was standing in a service tunnel behind one of the largest trading centers on Coruscant. The lower levels of the Bank became the highest limit casino in republic space, and the upper levels housed the Bank’s reputable facade. The level he was on was focused on money exchange. 

As Cal watched, the cloaked figure exited a small side door from the Bank and strode away again, just as he knew what the figure's force presence felt like beneath his strong shielding, he also knew that the man now carried a credit chip worth billions. 

Most credit chips had a limited value that they could hold, sized most often for individual, household, or business use. Some bounty hunter guilds paid in higher value chips, but especially in the outer rim they were rare. 

This, something that could move billions inconspicuously was as rare to encounter as a zillo beast, as the sayings go. 

Cal had seen a zillo beast as it turns out, when he was still an initiate even.

He kept following the trail of the shadowy figure. He had to complement the man, if he was being tailed by anyone else, he would have been impossible to follow. 

The force guided Cal along in the echo’s wake, he was nearly out of credits again, having spent them on shuttles and transports to half-cross the planet's hemisphere. If Cal had woken on the exact opposite side of Coruscant to the Jedi Temple, he was half way there now. He stepped off the most recent shuttle and was startled from his musings-the force wasn’t leading him anywhere. 

Cal looked back, but the shuttle bus had already zipped on to its next destination, he took in the platform he was on again. It was clean and tidy, not particularly well lit but enough to make it feel secure. The architecture in this region was distinct and Cal finally allowed himself to move forwards. 

He kept his senses wide open and moved along the walkways. 

Cal ducked into alleys and climbed to rooftops to avoid beings when he could, and kept his head ducked and presence small when he couldn't. 

Every individual he encountered on the streets or saw inside the buildings and shops he passed wore armour. Helmets on or off, casually dressed or not, every single person he passed wore Mandalorian armour. Even the children running around the squares -and he was mightily surprised to see them, until he caught sight of the parents and teens that kept close watch from the patios and rooftops alike. 

Cal stood out in this neighbourhood like he had nowhere else as he trailed the shadowy figure. Indeed, the shadowy figure himself would stand out here too. His long black cloak that covered his entire body and face wouldn’t be out of place on any street or shuttle from Coruscant to Tatooine, but here, on these streets, where armour was a reflection of one’s soul-it did the opposite of blend in. 

Cal kept walking, looking around, and hoping to pick up the trail again, but he was more and more certain that it was lost.

Still, Cal kept going. He didn’t have the money to crash in a hotel room any longer, and his feet were starting to drag with exhaustion, he felt like he hadn’t slept since before landing on Caamas. Despite that, his feet were hesitant to turn towards the shuttle station and head to the temple- seeing it now, in peace and filled with life- he didn't know if he had it in him to do so.

As he was stalling, uncertain of returning to the temple, his senses caught on some rather urgent activity ahead.

Angry yelling sounded, and the ringing of beskar on beskar passed down the streets.

“That sounds bad, let's go buddy.” BD zipped back to his spot on Cal’s shoulder from where he had been busily scanning the graffiti on the street that seemed to show a Mandalorian dancing provocatively, and showing off a rather uniquely designed codpiece.

Be-beep! Boo bee trill beep boo? Boo trill bee boop!

“There is no death, BD, there is the force.” Cal paused for a moment to consider his words, “you know, I don’t think that this is what Master Yoda meant when he said that.”

Beep Bloop Trill Bwee Boo

“Yeah buddy, the force is with us.”

With that said, Cal dashed forwards, as he spilled out into the next palazzo in the district the conflict was clear. He quickly dropped behind a convenient shipping pallet to take in the situation. 

He remembered the armour of Death Watch from the holo reels of his youth, and from the stylings of Bo-Katan’s armour when he ran into her as an adult. There were about twenty Mando’s dressed in the distinct blue and grey armour, half of them were already in place shooting back, and more appeared spilling out of the other alleys into the palazzo. They were falling back to this spot from the warren of side streets. 

Pursuing them came even more Mandos. 

The tallest and broadest of the Death Watch group entered the courtyard by kicking open one of the doors of a building leading into the space, and in his arms, struggling, but with a vibroknife pressed to his neck, which was unprotected by a gorget, was a colourful Mando. His bodysuit was bright red, and his armour a marbled mix of teal, blues, and whites, with yellow starbursts on the joint pieces. 

Once the Teal one was in sight, and the threat to his life clear, the two sides came to a bit of a standstill. 

Clanking of heavy boots and armour shifting rang as Death Watch continued to fall back, and their pursuers kept in their footsteps, but no more shots rang out. 

One of the pursuers walked forwards, taking a handful of steps into the courtyard, and turning his back to a good portion of the Death Watch forces, to confront the hulking man and his hostage. 

“Young Vizsla,” he began. 

“How nice, to see Jaster’s dogs off their leash,” The tall one replied. He shook the mando in his arms, rattling their skull. “Your whelp nearly gutted me Gilamar.”

If Cal didn’t know Death Watch was xenophobic, he would think the tall one was a wookie, based on how easily he managed to control the captive he held. 

“Myles is still learning,” Gilamar said, pride in his voice. “Let the boy go Vizsla. It is not the way, for Mandalorians to kill children.”

“This child wears armour into battle, Gilamar. If he hasn’t earned it maybe I should bring him with me. In Death Watch we would see to it that he earned every piece, we don’t just give it away to the unworthy. ”

“In Death Watch there are none worthy,” a Mandalorian in the crowd cried. As they did the violence erupted again.

The young Mando slammed his head back, trying to break the hold on him, but was unable to do much, and Gilamar dove towards him, taking blaster bolts to his armoured back, but not slowing down in the slightest. He grabbed Vizsla’s wrist and twisted the knife it held away. 

Vizsla shoved the boy, delivering a kick to his spine that had him sliding along the ground; he too was shot at, though his armour did its job of keeping him safe.

With a force assisted hand spring, Cal ignited his blade and fought his way to the center of the courtyard. 

Cries of surprise sounded, and shouts in Mandalorian, of which Cal only picked up curse words. Presumably the curses were directed at him, as he became the focus of much of Death Watch’s firepower. 

“You know, before you tell the lie that Death Watch trains good warriors, you should probably learn how to aim.” Cal taunted, punting blaster bolts back at their senders. 

The kid behind him sat up, drew a blaster from his boots and started firing at Vizsla, his laughter ringing out. 

“Jedi, you would be wise to stay out of this,” Vizsla snarled, he wielded a war hammer, and one of his gauntlets had a small personal shield that he used to deflect Gilamar’s shots. 

“Yeah, probably,” Cal agreed, “but force knows, Fett would kark up my day if he found out I just sat back and let Death Watch have its way.” 

Vizsla advanced on his prey, swing powerful, and though Gilamar was able to dodge the first, he couldn't evade the second hit. 

His chest plate crumpled and he fell, body thrown, to crash down several feet away. 

The boy lunged towards him with a cry, and Cal moved, becoming the impenetrable cover between the pair on the ground and the heavyweight of Death Watch’s artillery pouring everything they had on them. 

Cal was stuck, providing cover for the boy behind him, the Mandalorians fighting Death Watch pushed their way into the courtyard, but were too far back to intercede. Cal detached one end of his sabre and threw. 

The pink blade spun across the battlefield earning a strike against Vizsla. Unfortunately, his armour was made of beskar, and the blade fizzled out as it returned to Cal’s hand. From the way Vizla holds his arm to his body though, Cal is sure the man won’t be wielding his warhammer again any time soon. 

Cal keeps up his cover of the two on the ground behind him, and wields the force, lifting up crates and planted pots that Death Watch have taken to using for cover as they continue their retreat. 

A few bodies fall, but most are collected by comrades and dragged out of the line of fire. 

As the colourful Mandalorians gain ground, a mid-sized cruiser swooped in, hovering at the palazzo’s open edge. Death Watch’s members began piling onto it; those with jetpacks flew in formation, hovering behind the shuttle and shooting covering fire to protect the retreat of their comrades. 

Cal held his spot, guarding the injured Mandalorian at his back while the young one in teal tore away armour and smeared sharp citrus smelling bacta across his wounds, prayers falling from beneath his vizor. 

Pink blades spinning, Cal managed a few return hits with bolts, but made no effort to pursue once Death Watch completed their retreat and the shuttle departed. 

The air cleared of blaster bolts, the palazzo filled up with Mandos. Every colour imaginable decorated their armour, patterns and designs he was unfamiliar with, but seemed to denote rank or position caught his attention. Cal peered at them, trying to figure out if they were the same as designs the Clone troops had adopted or not. 

Two Twi’leks took charge of the group, sending off small recon parties to track their adversary, and secure the platform, and calling forward the medics to assess their injured.

Soon enough, Cal was starting to get nervous, he could tell that the figures around him were trying to pin him in, and he casually made his way forward, looking like he was just checking the platform edge. He moved slowly, and the Mandalorians aiming to intercept him kept their pace casual as well. 

They were cautious, but not outright threatening. 

Cal could work with that.

As he moved, he felt his side, tacky and warm with fresh blood. His hand pressed against it and pain spiked. He must have reopened his wounds with all the moving he had just done. 

Stims could do a lot to heal a person, and if Cal had taken the time to direct a little force healing to the injury since waking, he would have been fine, but just like there had been no time to sleep, there had also been no time to meditate, and he felt it now.

“Stim, BD?” Cal asked, with a chirp he received one, and the Mandalorians moved quicker to catch up with him, there was an outraged cry from the medic that saw him administer his version of first aid.

“Time to go BD”, Cal said, and darted to the edge of the platform, “I’m glad you are all alright,” he called over his shoulder, and then with BD’s loud whoops in his ear Cal stepped off the platform and fell away. 

Hours later, eating a late breakfast in the cantina attached to the boarding rooms Cal had found, after spending half of the previous night basically dumpster diving for credits in more locked storage units, Cal was cornered. 

With a cocked head, vizor locked on him, the tallest member of the group, a twi’lek judging by the synthweve draped from the back of their helmet, took a menacing step forwards and loomed, “Fett you said, that’s the mando you’re gonna claim to know?” They asked, with a growl. 

“What kind of idiots does this brat take us for?” Was the incredibly rude comment from the back of the pack of Mandos. 

“There’s only one Fett, and he’s the Mandalor’s son, and he is not friends with any Jedi. Do you really want to claim you jumped into that fight because of Fett ?” Prompted the other twi’lek in the group, he had impressively muscled bright red arms, fully on display even in his armour. 

BD jumped to the table and stood in front of Cal, as threatening as a kitten, as if they were going to protect him from the angry Mandalorians closing in on his personal space, keeping him pinned in the corner of the cantina, and then, BD did the worst-best thing they could. 

They played holo clips. 

In the holo reel that BD played, Cal watched himself jump from building after building, he leapt from cliffs, and dropped from the boarding ramp of the Mantis as it took off, and in every one of the clips, he did so to get away from Fett. As he did, he waved goodbye, and winked, and eek, is this really what his flirting sounded like? This was awful, he tried to intervene, to stop this hover crash before it could get any worse, but he was shushed and prodded back into his seat by the Mando in teal, who had slid onto the bench next to him while he was distracted. 

Then it got worse. 

Instead of Cal running away from Fett, it was Boba, using his jet pack to follow, or falling into step side by side with Cal in a crowded market place, swinging his leg over the back of stools or chairs to drop into place next to Cal. Merrin was in some of the clips too, arm in arm with Boba, the pair of them laughing at Cal as he blushed. 

The Mandalorians around him snorted and chortled, the boy next to him popped his bucket off and chuckled along with them “Aye, you’ve got one of us chasing your tail alright, what’s the lads name?” Beneath his helmet, it revealed a young pantoran boy, about 14 in age if Cal had to guess.

“Uh, it’s Fett,” Cal shared, not wanting the cluster to return to their hostilities, but he’d opened his idiot mouth earlier, and couldn't go back on it now, even with the reminder that in this time, just as his own, the name Fett had powerful connections. “Boba Fett,” Cal continued, shocked to have seen so many of his interactions with Fett on camera. The expressions BD had caught, whenever Boba had his bucket off and Cal wasn’t looking were nothing like what he had expected. He was sure he was blushing.

“Boba Fett, alright then, the kid looks enough like Jango. Guess there's no denying that relation, where’d this Boba come from kid?” the Twi’lek asked.

“An ocean planet, kark, I mean I don’t know,” Cal replied, head still spinning by the shift in the force, the Mando’s surrounding him had transitioned from tentatively friendly, like a cautious ally to hostile and ready to throttle him, but now, having seen his interactions with Boba, their affection and amusement were smothering. If that wasn’t bad enough Cal was fretting as well, there was something about seeing that montage that he just kept tripping on, like a mental road-block. 

Boba was normally stoic, or smug, but at times in those clips-particularly the moments when Cal’s escape route was dangerous, or sent him back towards the angry imps, or down unknown falls, Boba had looked worried; there were moments too when he had looked sad. 

Was he sad that Cal was running away? 

Cal wasn’t sure, but there were other moments, in the cantinas, or when Boba and Merrin would catch up to him together that he looked happy, his eyes smiling and expression soft. 

Cal swallowed the lump in his throat, he didn’t want to come between Boba and Merrin if that is what they wanted- He would have to check in with Merrin once they got back together, BD was confident that she would be somewhere in the galaxy, and as soon as Cal got a response on his communicator, he would try to track her down. 

He pushed aside the lingering thoughts that he wanted to be the one to put that smile back on Boba’s face, the warm memories of his best times on the Albedo Brave, where he would pile in with the troopers, who all had Boba’s face, the way they felt in the force. He told himself he would be happy having Boba as a vod, having any vod back again would be incredible. He told himself what he was starting to feel for Fett was no different from what he had felt in the past, but the thought didn’t quite ring true. 

The blue boy next to him slapped him on the shoulder and stole the last of his caff. “I am Myles, and Jango Fett, the Mand’alor’s son, is my best friend. I bet they’ll both be very interested in hearing how a Fett and a Jedi fell in together.”

Cal was ready to refuse, but the pack of Mandalorians surrounding him bristled, and the force sung in agreement, so Cal allowed himself to be prodded out of the cantina, with Myles pestering him with questions he couldn't answer if he didn’t want to admit to time travel, which he very much did not want to do. 

Chapter Text

Boba drifts into wakefulness; his body feels distant, floating far away. Something aware buzzes in the back of his head, keeping him from falling back asleep. It niggles away, worried like a loose tooth. 

In his dreams he hears Aurra Sing’s voice, “careful now Boba, you need to get up.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to breathe comfortably, wanting to sink back into his dreams-he has never been a morning person.

Again his dreams prod him, “on your feet trooper,” Alpha calls. Boba grew up with thousands of vod, but he had never been a trooper. 

Then Kote whispers to him, “you are never going to learn to beat me, if you don’t get up.” Boba did rouse at that, like hell was he going to let Kote, the vod that kitted himself up like a sniper only to wade into battles punching and kicking clankers, get away with that. Boba had never once beaten Kote sparring when they were young, and then Kote and the rest of the cc batch had outgrown him, but if he had the chance to face that old man now, at 18, he was sure he could wipe the floor with him.  

Boba twitches his fingers- they sink into loose earth. The sensation feels wrong.

He twitches his toes- and only feels his right leg respond. He might be starting to panic.

Boba remembers landing on Caamas, the desert heat and sunlight turning Cal’s fiery hair gold. Merrin’s ease walking over loose sand, while his steps dug in. 

He was sweating now, but it wasn’t due to falling asleep in the desert heat. Long fingers rested on his head, they raked through his curls; what a strange dream, Boba thought, it was almost like he could really feel Aurra’s hand. “Humans are so fragile,” her voice proclaimed, as it had often done when she and Bossk despaired over being the ones responsible for raising him. “Boba, you have a fever, you need to cool down,” Aurra urged.

Kark, he thought, what happened, he remembered pulling Cal and Merrin underneath him when the Empire began carpet bombing the city. Boba shifted again, they definitely weren't here now. 

Reluctantly cracking his eyes open and looking around, Boba found himself at the base of a gorge. Grey shards of shale crumbled and shattered along the gully. Slow moving, calcium rich water flowed nearby, just a shallow stream. 

The sky above was the pearlescent navy black of a thin atmosphere. 

Chills raked his body.

Whatever rock he was currently on, is sure as Manda wasn’t Caamas. 

Boba was surely awake now, but he was still moving slowly, laying on his front, “ad’ika, your leg wound is infected,” Jango’s voice echoed. In Boba’s memories, it always echoed. He couldn’t remember what Jango sounded like, it was always overlaid with Alpha, Kote, Wolffe, Fordo, so many vod that had his voice but still failed to sound like him. 

Boba reached back, feeling his left leg. A puncture wound speared through the meat of his left thigh, it bled sluggishly, his kute offering compression to the leg, and keeping him from bleeding out, it was hot and inflamed to the touch though. 

Boba groaned, his head ringing with first aid lessons, he needed to flush it out first. 

Crawling into the stream bed, the icy waters froze him, shattering the illusion that he could fall back asleep. If he passed out now, the infection would rage and there would only be death after that. 

Forcing himself to sit up, his wounded leg submerged in the frigid stream, Boba looks around more closely. There are no signs showing how he ended up here, but he can’t pretend to understand how force osik works. All of his lessons about the Jedi had come from the survivors of Gildraan, Bossk, and Aurra. He was well practiced at hunting down force users, especially after the last six months of playing catch and release with Cal and Merrin. He had once made quite the study of his fathers Jedi killer, though he hadn’t succeeded in killing Windu when he tried. None of those lessons gave him a single clue as to what happened to dump him here, but Boba was an expert at surviving, and no matter what karking force ossik he went through, that would never change.

Looking around the gully some more, knowing that he would need to find shelter soon, maybe somewhere to make a fire and cauterize his wound, his gaze caught on his helmet. It had only been a foot or two behind him when he had woken up.

Feeling that his leg would be okay if he moved, Boba crawled to it.

Boba had been holed up in his little cave for a few days now. So far as he could tell, based on star positions and the looming dark mass that blocked all light and obliterated any possibility of the rock Boba found himself on being a part of a nameless asteroid field, Boba knew exactly where he was.

Being inside an asteroid field, signals bounced around so much that communications were useless, so for now Boba was left alone to recover.

As is common on asteroids, there was no large plantlife. Along the edges of the stream algae grew, and thankfully it was edible, but there were no grasses or trees anywhere Boba had seen so far, just a vast grey jagged landscape, curving spectacularly along its horizon, when it wasn’t blotted out by the passing of Concord Dawn, the shattered planet in the sky above. 

Boba was feeling comfortable standing and bearing his weight on his injured leg now. The puncture wound was healing well enough, the deep bruising that had surrounded the puncture fading from blues and purples to yellow-green. His cauterizing of the wound itself left painful scabs weeping on the front and back of his leg. With nothing to burn on the planet, Boba had been forced to heat one of his knives with his flamethrower, and then apply the hot edge to the wound. The gas canisters his flamethrower used burned extra hot, and the resulting burns needed extra care to stay healthy. 

Boba had lain in his cave for days, moving slowly and stretching carefully. He had seen a few space pests travel past his cave for water, and happily picked them off with his whistling birds, collecting the bodies. Rodents didn’t taste great charred, but between them and the algae, and Boba's stash of rations, at least he wouldn't starve.

Just before the night cycle began, six days after waking, Boba heard the rumble of thrusters engage. He dropped what he was doing, scrambling up the ridge to his look out point.

He wasn’t desperate enough yet, or healed enough, to risk sending up a flare to draw attention to himself, but knowing the kind of beings that used the planet, and their general direction was very comforting knowledge to have. Finding any landing point within an asteroid field is difficult, but if smugglers or criminals had a post here he could likely barter a way off it from them, plus they should have a beacon to help them find the site again. 

The ship he spotted was small, often used by scouting or landing parties who wouldn't have to live on it; it was also made by MandalMotors; hardly a surprise given where they were. Boba sat at the top of his little hill, in the shadow of a few large rocks, and watched the ship rise up. It hangs high in the air before tipping its nose in the direction of its choice. The pilots didn't have to rise far to break atmo, but even still, the ships pilots engaged hyperdrive before breaking free. “Karking sheebs,” Boba cursed. 

Initiating a jump from within atmo wore through hyperspace engines quicker, made for a rough, turbulent hyperspace ride, which also taxed the stabilizers, and dumped exhaust and pollutants directly into the ozone. 

Boba took his time sitting there, using his HUD to calculate the distance between him and the presumed docking location. As he leaned back against the sun warmed rocks, the asteroid spun, the shattered debris and dusts that were once his fathers home planet came into view, quickly followed by the hulking mass of the planet itself. Boba sat alone in the dark, it was just him and the echoes of his past. 

Eventually, with a sigh, Boba rose switching Bucket lights on to make his way back to his meagre camp. Boba picked his pace up a bit as he went, testing out his leg and pushing himself that little bit harder, prepping himself for whatever he would find, once he made his way to the unknown post. 

Travelling only during the day, Boba made his way along the stream bed for as long as he could, before refilling his canteen and turning, climbing the bank and walking into the wastes towards the area he saw the ship. 

On the final day of his walk, he settled in to wait for the night. In the dark, with his HUD set to infra lights, he moved in to scout. 

His first signs of occupation came from worn paths. The brittle shale of the ground had been crumbled to fine gravel in areas of high traffic. Keeping to those pathways, Boba crept along. 

Eventually, the paths led to a hole, his helmet couldn't see across it in the gloom, its distant edges disappearing, just shades of greys slipping into indistinguishable pitch. Boba sent a scouting wasp into the night, looking for life signs or heat signals in the pit. He kept exploring anyway, dropping down the elevations along the sides until a shipping container containing an overseer's office was found. It had been cleared of files, but the furniture rested in place, desks and chairs lingering along with a lone plant dead in its pot. 

The space felt ghostly, liminal and haunted, but void of life. As Boba was digging through desk drawers for a hint of who had run operations here, the wasp droid returned. It had found no life signs of note. 

Using climbing cables to ascend the pit, steep step by steep step, the planet in the sky above edged away, and the day brightened, Boba could see the expanse of the open mining pit he was within. At the surface it was wide enough that two venator class ships could rest tip to tail within it. Mining equipment lay abandoned at various points around the space, cranes and hovercrafts rusted and collapsed where they once stood. Tangles of warped durasteel and plastoid and klicks worth of abandoned wiring and cables lay behind Boba as he moved forwards.

He found another path, leading towards a rocky outcropping, where he hoped to find a vantage point to observe the paths and spot any signs of life in the daylight, without being detected. 

Boba moved there quick enough, and found what he was looking for, there was a shelf in the rock, a spot halfway up that was hidden from the paths, but had openings that looked over a third of the horizon, in the directions he wanted to go. 

The rock shelf was narrow enough that it forced him to spend the day laying down, but his leg was healed enough that it wasn’t a terrible prospect. Digging through his pouches, Boba ate a handful of charred food, and settled in for a day of sleep and observation. 

After catching a handful of hours worth of light sleep in the early morning, Boba has his next heading. Just ahead and to the right is another outcropping, and he had seen a cluster of beings make their way past it not long after dawn. 

The landscape was so open and barren of cover that he knew he had to move quick.

Boba shook out his leg, getting ready to move and went for it. His long strides ate away at the distance, once again he climbed an outcropping, this one had less comfortable accommodations, but if he wedged himself into the crevice he noted, he wouldn't be seen from any of the diverging paths around the rocks. 

With his hide established, Boba began to cautiously follow the path the others had taken. They were the first living sentients he had seen since waking up, and he suspected they were occupying this rock in an effort not to be found, so approaching them openly was a last resort.

The path he followed led to another gully, this one was carved by fast moving water, as he neared, the smell of sulfur rose to him, steam hung low in the air, clogging the view from Boba’s HUD and forcing him to rely on alternative sensors to find his way. 

Once his HUD adjusted to the humidity, he could switch back and take in the scene below. Boba found himself knelt midway down on a switchback path descending into the gully, with the sheets of steam and mist in the air providing a decent amount of cover between him and the beings he had observed earlier. 

There was a wide shelf of level ground near the base of the gully, likely accommodating seasonal waterflow, but exposed for now, as well as a stream of descent depth being fed into by the sulphuric hot springs eeking their way between cracks in the bedrock exposed by the deep walls of the gully. Children made up most of the beings at the base of the gully, divided into two groups. Over half of them stood in the waters of the hotspring, their ages ranged, the youngest looking around five or six standard- though judging ages for a clone raised on Kamino, he couldn't be sure he had adjusted for growth rates correctly. Not even Boba’s own standard aging could compete with the way time warped around the vode. 

The oldest in the group appeared to be a similar age to Boba himself, with the majority seeming to be around 13. 

Despite the Mandalorian tradition of the verd’goten, none of the kids over the age of 13 wore armour. Instead they were dressed in rags. Spending their days outside, exposed to the elements and worse, to the sun's rays, it was no surprise that they all have skin lesions and cracks. 

One of the dangers of such a thin atmosphere was that there was little to protect from sun exposure. They were all suffering, while Boba and the members of Death Watch observing them were perfectly safe beneath their kutes and armour.

The kids in the water had fine mesh sieves they dunked, drained, and emptied into baskets floating in the water with them, kept nearby with rope tied to their waists, or for the shorter children to their wrists. 

Some of the very young were forced to tread water to keep afloat. 

Boba had vivid memories of his own, to compare with what the children on land were suffering through. 

They stood in a semi circle, the death watch hutan watching them picked two, shuffled them into the circle and watched them fight. On Kamino, Dread Priest, one of the trainers who was a member of Death Watch once upon a time, had set up an underground fighting circle. He and some of the other trainers picked unlucky vode and ordered them to meet at night in a water purifying facility beneath the barracks. 

The vode that showed up were forced to fight to the death, and if it was suspected that they didn’t do their best, or try their hardest to win, then whatever batchmate they had come in with would be killed, along with their opponent and his batchmate. Any mercy shown in the ring was paid back with more deaths at the hands of Priest and his cronies. It hadn’t taken long for that lesson to spread.

The fighting ring had only gone on for two months, Jango hadn’t been back a day before he uncovered it and shut it down, but the stories and horrors of it lived on amongst the army forever. 

In the circle, two more were selected, and the defeated party crawled back to the sidelines. No one extended a hand to help. Boba felt relief wash through him that the fights he was watching weren't to the death. 

He couldn't take out all the members of Death Watch observing the kids without putting them at risk, so for now at least, he was forced to observe. 

A whistle sounded, and the kids swapped places. By the end of the day they would all be sore and soaked. They didn’t have enough body weight between them to warm up again once wet, and while the sun warmed the stone around them during the day, temperatures dropped low at night. 

With nothing more he could observe here, Boba left a wasp to keep watch, recording the scene and playing it in a corner of his screen, and made his way back up the steep path. 

He would find where they came from, and work out a rescue plan from there. 

Back at the rock waypoint, Boba continued following the trail, he was alert to the potential of being spotted, the landscape was so open a single person keeping watch could observe a massive area, but for now he seemed to move undetected.

The trail eventually began sloping up, there seemed to be a sheer ridge ahead, with a narrow pass leading through it. Approaching with caution, Boba moved along the opening. 

On the opposite side, he found himself standing at the ridge line of a crater. He moved to the side and dropped belly down to the ground. 

Lying in the base of the crater. With views that gave its occupants clear sights of anyone approaching were three buildings, the kind of temporary structures that were put up in refugee camps or as aid stations after natural disasters. A wide grate covered a hole in the ground, and there was a landing zone with fuel tanks to one side, in an area that had clearly been levelled. The three buildings were arranged in an L formation, the longest one extending between the other two and the landing pad, with the pit easily observed from any of the buildings.

Scanning below, Two figures appeared, they were dressed casually, wearing just the lower half of their armour and sitting by a gas run fire pit, without their helmets on. They had a clear view of the trail leading into the camp. 

As Boba was watching the camp, trying to find the best way down, one of the planet's pests approached him, shooing and hissing didn't discourage the intrepid rat from approaching however. 

Boba kicked at it, and the rat jumped up, dodging the blow, “Karking manda,” he cursed at it, he drew his blaster, set it to stun and aimed when the little monster lept at his head. 

Boba fired, hit his target and smacked the thing in the air, cursing again when it sailed onto the steep slope of loose rock, the body rolled as it went, raising dust in heavy clouds. Boba watched anxiously for the response from the two in the base of the crater, but they didn't even rise from their seats. 

With a shrug and an impulsiveness that never failed to get a reaction from his guardians, Bossk hissing, Aurra laughing and Jango grinning maniacally, Boba rolled himself down the cliff after the rat. 

He was happy to take advantage of anyones inefficient operational security, and apparently these two were so used to rockslides that they barely registered anymore. 

At the base, Boba crawled from the loose shale trying to bury him and moved fast and low, not stopping until he had tucked himself into the shadows of a shelter. 

He stood up against the wall, edging around corners and crawling in an open window. The room inside was unoccupied but clearly housed a number of Death Watch’s forces. Bunks were neat and tidy, chests by the head held a few personal items like pads or decks of cards, it was a more human version of the clones barracks, allowing for personal touches, but clearly designed for people who had elected the life of a soldier. 

Boba discovered that two of the buildings were bunks, refreshers included. The larger one had an office equipped with communication equipment. It was only operating as an intermittent all-clear beacon at the moment. Still, Boba bugged the wire and bugged a spare helmet at the same time. He could now hear the short and long distance communications from the camp. 

Slipping out of the bunk rooms, Boba avoided being seen by either of the sheebs left in camp. They were busy working on projects updating their armour and moving in and out of the third building. Boba guessed it held storage and a kitchen and dining area. 

He kept scouting around, there were no ships on site at all. If he wanted to free the kids he would need a way to get them all off this rock. Boba tucked himself away and settled in to observe and read what he could from the documents he’d lifted from the office. While he waited for the ade to come back to camp he sent off a second wasp to scout along the other paths leading away from the crater, but no matter where he checked for the rest of the day, no vehicles were found. It truly seemed there were no ships or shuttles in the camp, if they had them somewhere else, none of the trails nearby led to them. 

Darkness spread in the crater even quicker than it did above, shadows growing from the crater rim as soon as midday passed, it took a few hours to reach the base, but once they did, Boba was able to move in to look down the grill above the wide pit. 

The pit sunk down about two stories, with a ladder welded into the side to reach the base. A meagre pile of blankets clustered together on the dirt floor, and Boba knew this was where the adike slept. Exposed to the elements, huddled together to shiver in the cold and endure. 

These Dar’manda would pay for their abuses. Boba would ensure it. 

He looked around the camp again, with an eye for the best means of assault. Given the limited supplies of food and weapons around, Boba knows he stands a decent chance of successfully liberating the camp. 

Once again he settled down out of the way, waiting for the others to return with the kids, hoping a nightly update or communication exchange will give him clues about ways off planet. 

Once full darkness has fallen, with lights on helmets only, the group returns from the hotspring. Some of the children wear heavy baskets on their backs, presumably ferrying whatever they had sifted from the water back to camp. All the children slumped and stumbled. 

Over the com frequency Boba had piggybacked, crackling voices carried. “No food for Tor’s golden girl today,” the first voice said. 

“What’d she do to piss you off today?” was the reply. 

“She pull her punches again?”

“Nah, girl doesn’t make the same mistake twice. She hid some of her morning rations, I think they went to Wren.”  

“Don’t be an idiot Rau,” growed one voice, “the bitch is happy to repeat mistakes if she thinks you aren’t paying attention, she knows you’ll fall for it.” 

“My eyes were on them all day, it was a fucking boring view, but I didn’t miss anything old man,” 

“You’d miss seeing an angry strill barreling towards you if there was a pretty karking cloud in the sky Rau, you’re an idiot.” 

Angry and amused muttering filtered across the line, as the troupe reached the base of the crater. 

“Anything happen here?” 

“All clear for the day, not a fucking word from anybody,”

“It’s a dark site, di’kute, no word, no ships, nothing comes, nothing goes, no one knows,”

“Good, and it’s going to stay that way; vital communications only.” 

“Aye, aye sir,” echoed the resigned replies.

The two Death Watch that had spent the day in camp emerged from the cooking space, one carrying a basket and the other pushing a shipping crate on a hover cart.

The children entered camp in an orderly single file, youngest first. One of their guards went to the grate, unlocking it with a physical key and raising it up, Boba noted their armour, eyes on the back of his shoulder plates-he would need that key once the owner was dead. 

The children with baskets emptied them into the shipping container and left the baskets on the ground. They each were given a single packet from the kitchen basket of army rations which they ate under supervision before walking the rest of the way to the ladder. From there they climbed down, until the last child had dropped her basket.

The girl was one of the oldest, and though she extended her hand for a ration pack, none were given to her. 

Her words didn't carry over internal comms, but the response did.

“Don’t test me bitch, you don’t need to eat tomorrow either,” 

The girl snarled something else and moved towards the ladder, but the one with the key had obviously had enough. 

He spun on his heel, marched towards the girl and backhanded her with his gauntlet, she toppled to the ground, but was quickly on her feet again, facing off against the man. 

“Let her go, Dred,” one of the voices suggested.

Boba jolted, fixating on the man he, he wanted to go down there and kill him where he stood, he wasn’t surprised to learn Dred Priest was once a trainer for Death Watch, but his armour was different from when Boba had known him, and he hadn’t recognized him on sight. 

Dred swung at the girl again, she dodged the first hit, grabbed his arm and tried to throw the larger armoured man, but he used his weight against her, pummeling the girl into the ground. She tried to get up again, but Dred kicked her down. Again she tried to rise, again she was beaten back. 

Boba was ready to rain fire down on them, but some of the kids lingered at the top of the ladder, waiting, and there was no way to keep them all safe if he engaged now, plus even if Boba could take out all of Death Watch without the kids being harmed, he still had no way off planet. 

Finally, the girl stopped twitching and responding and Dred stalked away. 

“Check her over Kest,” someone snapped. 

“Get the rest of the brats down the hatch,” another barked. 

The one looking over the girl slumped their shoulders. Boba’s breath was caught in his chest. He felt panic swim up inside him and forced it down. 

“She needs bacta,” they spoke. “We don’t have enough here to treat it, I can give a stim for now, but it won’t do enough in the long run. Her lungs were punctured, and a med droid needs to fix that.” 

“Is it worth it?” one of them questioned.

“Do you want to tell Tor that his fucking golden girl isn’t going to be around for any of his grand plans?” was the response. 

“I’d rather face a nexu on my own without armour, thanks,” drawled the responder. 

Snickers rolled down the line. 

The stim was administered, for all the good it would do without the bone fragments being fixed, and the girl was carried on a stretcher into the kitchen area. The grate was locked shut over the children in the pit. 

The long distance comms crackled to life, and from them people exchanged curses about Dred Priest that actually managed to impress Boba, the medical ship would be here before dawn the next morning. It left barely any time to prepare at all, but Boba had a good idea what to do. 

The ship would wait to receive an all clear landing code before setting down, so Boba had to wait out the night before taking out anyone. 

Boba moves fast, rushing back to the abandoned mining pit. He drops down the levels quickly, vaulting himself over the ledges cut into the sides of the mine. He reaches a point where personal vehicles were dumped, hundreds of speeders, transporters, and chariot lifts rusting in a pile, but many of those devices have thrusters or exhaust ports that are protected from intaking anything. The thrusters act like magnets, repelling the ground, and can easily become clogged, so they are designed to have a small protective barrier that allows nothing physical to bypass it. It is a little known feature that these barriers also protect against blaster bolts. It is an even lesser known feature that they can be harvested from the engine exhaust ports and repurposed. 

Boba diggs through the stash, and when he leaves it, he does so with his jetpack carrying him and an astromech sized collection of working parts gathered in his arms. Together they should be enough to keep the hostages in their open sleeping pit safe from blaster fire or weapons targeting. 

His mechanic skills aren’t anything impressive, if Cal could see this he would be disgusted, nose wrinkling while BD screamed insults before diving in and streamlining and improving upon what Boba accomplished, but still, between this and his weapons, Boba was confident going into the fight.

It means that Boba can pick off the Death Watch members without worrying about someone slipping away to kill the children, as Kyr’tsad would be likely to do in the event of discovery. 

He just needs to sneak back into camp, set up the rig, and then remain undiscovered until the medics are given landing permission from the group on the ground. 

Once he is back near Death Watch’s position, Boba lands and begins creeping around. The watch they keep is even less impressive at night, no lights shine, and the group clusters around their fire pit, helmets off enjoying food and drinks before wandering off to bed. One person stays up, presumably to keep watch but their eyes are fixed on the flames, blind to the things that move in the night.

Boba manages to set his improvised shield in place, without being spotted, plus he manages to set a few traps and bombs to trigger later on as well. 

Preparations complete, he slinks away and sets up his sniper position with a hungry eagerness filling him up. He lays low on the roof of the kitchen shelter, eating his own rations.

He is keen for the violence to begin, eyes tracking back and forth across the camp space. Anticipating the order he will set the explosions off, planning his route of destruction through the camp; wondering how many he can pick off before his hide is discovered and he needs to move. 

Thoughts of the coming conflict fill his mind, the waiting game continued, come on come on , he thought, eager for the medical ship to arrive so he could begin picking off these sheebs. 

Boba’s father used to tell him that he was filled with the spirit of a vengeful old mandalorian ghost, someone from the time of the conquests, who looked at Jango’s compatriots and found them weak and wanting. 

Boba had always taken that praise with the buckets of ocean salt it deserved, but after the week he has had, he is willing to revisit that assessment. 

When the coms crack to life with news of the incoming ship, Death watch rouses, personnel moving into an almost proper guard formation. Four people moved around to stand guard on the perimeters, one climbed to the rooftop of the largest building, and Boba shifted to keep the kitchen exhaust piping between them. 

Just as he hears the shuttle behind him power down Boba fires. His T-7 disruptor rifle is silent, his first shot takes the one on the opposite roof. The three patrolling go down in sequence. Boba drops down, enters the kitchen area and kills the one sitting there, the spoon they had been morosely stirring their porridge with clatters to the ground, within their armour, organic matter fades away atom by atom.

Ducking out of the kitchen he openly approaches the six Death Watch by the ship, with a few blinks and HUD commands, the containment field above the pit launches and the two sleeping shelters explode. 

One of the Death Watch on the ship's ramp begins running back to the cockpit, but Boba lobs a EMP disruptor onto one of the wings and freezes all the ship's tech for at least the next twenty minutes.

One way or another, in twenty, these six will be dead, cursed by their ancestors and forgotten among the stars for becoming dar’manda.

The six move, one falls back, using the hull of the ship as cover to fire blaster bolts at him, he keeps a steady approach pace, dodging left and right, side stepping the fire with deceptive ease. Two jet into the air, trying to flank him. They get shot down, and as they fall their companions recoil in horror, realizing the weapon Boba wields against them. 

In close combat, the rifle isn't as helpful, instead Boba swings it, rattling the skull of one approaching him, before jabbing the barrel into the neck of the man behind him and firing again.

He gets tackled by the one he whacked and they roll on the ground flipping and trying to land on top.

Blaster bolts continue to rip holes in the ground to their left and right. Boba takes a hit to the knee, the blaster weve of his kute heating against his still healing burns and causing him to jerk. 

“Aim for the left leg,” is called on comms, someone observing the struggle has good eyes. 

Boba manages to pull a knife from his belt and slip it between plates, the one above him slumped and Boba hefts them, using their body as a shield as he rises. 

Dred had slipped behind him, towards the kitchen building and the girl, away from the shelter of his improvised lazer gate. Boba threw his knife and it embedded itself hilt deep next to the man's spinal column.

A crazed yell sounded and Boba was tackled again, this time his opponent had a flame thrower and they appeared happy to roast themself along with him if it worked. The woman's thighs gripped his torso and he couldn't throw her off. He held her wrist, keeping the firespray aimed above his head, and with his opposite wrist lit his own flamethrower. 

His flames burned hotter, an illegal mod that wouldn't catch on until the clone wars innovations were developed. Her body suit couldn't protect her and when she recoiled, he let her go. She was already smoldering, and with his westar, he put her out of her misery.  

The final one had fallen back, lingering somewhere out of sight, and three more Death Watch scumbags had escaped the explosions; they were mostly unarmed, so Boba easily picked them off with the rifle. 

He stalked onto the ship, hunting the last enemy.

Shifting and sliding Boba slinked down corridors, one westar trained at the ceiling and one waist level pointing ahead he moved. 

A voice drifted, “Dar’manda, in whose service do you destroy the bodies and souls of your enemies?”

Boba made no reply.

“What will happen to your own soul, as punishment for such a crime?” The voice hissed, coiling down hallways and spilling from rooms as if projected from the very walls of the ship.

“Spare me dark one, betrayer, and I can give you purpose. You cannot even dream of the honor of serving the Mand’alor, he will lead you back, his call will echo in your soul.” the voice promised.

Boba took a step backwards, shifting down a narrow service passage to his right and climbing up into the tunnels above. 

He holstered his blasters and moved forwards again, silent and familiar with the narrow creeping pace, like a spider on its webb.

“You are a defiler, dark one, perhaps not even the Mand’alor can save you now,” The voice dripped venom, and the wielder spun around the corner, firing ahead, but hitting the opposite wall. 

“Found you,” Boba breathed, and he dropped from his perch among the service pipes.

He crashed onto the one below him, they stumbled to their knees while Boba landed on his feet. He gripped their head in his hands and in a move that would have impressed Alpha, twisted their head, with a wet crack the body slumped.

Boba dragged the body from the ship and moved through the camp, ready to greet the wee ones for the first time. 

He shed his helmet as he did, and called to the young ones before sticking his head over the opening. 

“Adiik,” he greets, Boba stares at the lock and looks back across the camp, not seeing the body of the one with the key. He shrugs and deactivates his shield, then blasts apart the grate and swings the pieces away. 

“It is always a good day, meeting the enemies of your enemies,” he adds, extending a hand to help the first up the ladder the final way. 

With narrow eyes, the first to emerge speaks, “you make a good enemy to Death Watch, but how do we know you’ll make a good ally to us?” Behind them, another emerges, and they take up the task of helping the others. All the children sport bruises and skinny narrow frames. 

“Well it seems to me that I have a medical ship, so as your ally, I can take you wherever you want to go,” He hums, “sounds good, no?”

“What’s your name, friend?” the boy responds, grin on his face. 

“It’s Fett, Boba Fett.” He responds, the children all freeze, staring at him for an instant before their faces wipe clear of expression. “And you?” 

“Prue Kryze,” the youngest chirps, worming their way between Boba and the teen boy he faces. A wide grin splits the young ones face, missing teeth on display, whether they were lost due to fighting or their age is a mystery to Boba. 

“Hello Prue,” Boba answers. 

The boy groans, dropping his hands onto Prue’s shoulders and jostling the babe. “Well if Prue likes you, I guess we will get along,” the teen groans. “I am Nekfeu Kay. I didn’t know Arla had any family left,” Boba jerked at his words. 

“How do you know Arla?” he asked. Once again, the children's faces swam with an ocean worth of emotions. 

“She’s here, probably in the only building left standing on a medical cot if history is anything to go by.” 

“Kark,” Boba huffed, walking back to check on his aunt. He found her where he left her, the gurney’s medical chart had alright readings, but a dunk in bacta would do her a world of good. 

Boba hovered the pallet and moved out towards the ship. 

“Ad’ika,” Boba called, “it’s time to go,” the unconscious blonde twitching at his raised voice, “bring whatever rations and blankets you can, space is cold, and we don’t know how long it will take to get you wherever you want to go.”

Nekfeu fell into step beside him, “We want to find the Haat’ Mando’ade.” 

“What, all of you,” Boba asked, “I thought Kryze would be going back to the New ones?”

Nekfeu spit a string of curses, “those fuckers don’t deserve to raise a single soul,” His dark eyes burned, rimmed in red, “a bunch of the kids here were taken from the New Mandalorians,” he confessed. “As far as we can tell, they never reported their absences to the True Mandalorians, because they were afraid they wouldn't be left in charge of their own city's administration if they proved themselves incapable of caring for their young. Instead, they bought peace with Death Watch by supplying them bodies, and specifically chose non-humans or those with obvious mixed ancestry to sacrifice. And Death Watch killed them off first, since they only want humans filling their ranks.”

Boba stopped, he knocked his forehead gently against Kay’s “The blood of your enemies will soak the ground at your feet,” he promised, “you will know the safety and peace of enduring beyond their memory,” 

He was thrilled when Kay responded, “your vow gives me the courage to see it is so.”

Once all the children were aboard, Boba explored the medbay, and another of the older prisoners had joined him. She sat cross legged on the end of Arla’s cot while a med droid scanned her and spouted off its treatment plans. 

Boba and the girl, Yuchi, approved the plan, and the droid got to work. Arla would be good to go into the tank once the droid was done. 

“How did you make the shield,” the girl asked, eyes shy as she glanced at Boba, who leaned against the counter space and poked at the bacta tanks operations pad, prepping it for use. 

“Here,” he said, drawing a spare generator from his belt. “I harvested a bunch of them from abandoned mining tech last night and set them up. It takes a bit of wiring to get them to function together, but the components that make the shields generally outlast the other mechanical parts. Figure out how to turn that on, and I’ll show you how to link them up.” Boba promised. 

Yuchi snatched the spare mech from him, turning it over and over in her hands like it was pure beskar, a happy smile warming her face. 

Boba set down his pad and grabbed an extra thermal blanket from the open shelves, dropping it on her bent head, as the girl kept inspecting her prize. 

Yuchi squealed and squirmed, moving so much that Arla woke up. Her golden eyes blinked at Boba, a perfect mirror of his own. Her breath hitched and the medical droid buzzed its annoyance. 

Arla found her voice before Boba did, “Jango,” she whispered in disbelief, stretching her hand towards him. 

Boba jerked back, shock and embarrassment suffusing the air around him. His hand lept to the back of his neck, ruffling his hair and covering the blush that he knew darkened his tan skin. 

“Uh, no, sorry, no,” he stumbled. Yuchi stifled a snicker behind the blanket in her hands. Boba shot a reproaching glance at her. “I am Boba, Boba Fett.” 

Arla’s brows furrowed at that, and she slipped back into unconsciousness. The medical droid beeped again, “she is ready for the tank. Sixteen hours minimum,” it ordained.

Boba gulped and did as instructed. Yuchi stayed to watch over Arla, and Boba moved off to the cockpit, ready to set a course and leave his awkward feelings about meeting his aunt behind him. 

Chapter Text

Merrin drifted, her awareness floated and whispered, currents moved it but there was nothing to rouse her. Like a lazy morning on the edge of sleep; one where good dreams cling to your consciousness.

At first her soul had been surrounded by lights, reds and blues and silvers; fine threads entwined with her own. She could not say that time had passed, but eventually she noticed the lights were leaving her. One by one, they tangled and knotted themselves around her, and then faded away. She had no hands to hold them, she did not watch them fade or dissipate, she had no eyes.

She longs to see them again, but they have parted from her.

Merrin strains, trying to see without eyes where they have gone, trying to scream without a mouth, trying to hear without ears, she is just a light, alone in the darkness.

It stays this way for some time.

*

An acolyte passes her watch in the halls of the Sleeper when her senses jar.

Chants fall from the young woman's lips, echoing the words of those that stood watch before her. Her words echo in the hall and fade into heavy silence.

With the spirit's guidance, she leaves her post, rising from the kneeling pad by the doors she descends flights of stairs to stand at the water's edge.

Mab knows she faces strict censure for leaving her post, it is not up to acolytes to interpret the acts of the spirits, but she is not yet certain if her senses have misled her or not.

It was not even one month ago that one of her peers began the initiate rites to become a shawoman. Vedya swore her vows, fasted and sweated, she dreamed and was painted with the wishes and hopes of her kin and friends. She went with blessings into the Waters of Life. The waters that Mab now watches over.

Death is a part of life.

Death is what Vedya found in the depths.

She dove deep and woke the Sleeper, and when she looked upon him she froze.

Once the waters have been stirred, one may either deliver death, or receive it.

Mab looks into the pool, she peers through the dark swirling eddies.

Her own reflection stares back, Mab doesn't want to step further, to touch so much as a toe to the water. She looks away, back to her post, certain that in looking she will only see her own reflection, worn with sorrow, but the spirits poke and prod, urging her to look again. To look harder. With the spirits urging she looks deeper into the dark water.

Her reflection upon the water ripples; something is most definitely moving in the pool.

The black water clears, and Mab screams, scrambling back, she saw a face, a corpse in the pool. It floated in the deep, and yet it was so clear she felt she could have reached out her hand and grabbed it.

Mab span on her heel, racing up the long flights of stairs, calling for the Mothers, calling for the acolytes, there is something returning from Death, and she will not face it alone. Mab has yet to undergo the final rights to become a shawoman herself, but she is still a sister of the night, and her sisters will stand with her, always.

*

A body was caught in a current dragged to and fro. Merrin felt her soul recognize it as the current brought it closer. Her awareness hung suspended in the dark and as she watched, the corpse became familiar. She could remember her thoughts directing that body. The hands raising and the feet walking. She knew it. Merrin tried to reach out to touch the body now hovering before her, but she had no hands in her current form, no weight or matter to act with.

As Merrin’s inspection went on she became aware of something else, she felt her magic strain, recognition pinging and zapping at her. A pair of twin energies arose behind her.

“The mortal flesh is a prison you have freed yourself from.” A male voice speaks.

“You will never be more powerful than you are now.” A female one adds.

“I did not kill myself for power,” Merrin says. Her awareness shifts left and right, turning as if to look over a shoulder that she does not possess in her current disembodied form. On her left side, the dark robed figure of the Son seemed to slouch against an invisible wall, his dark lined eyes locked on her with a laser focus. To her right the soft form of the Daughter stood tall, her head turned in an owlish fashion from her twin to look at Merrin. Her ruby lips part and her voice questions.

“No?” She hums. “You have bent Death and Fate to your will, surely after wielding such power as that you will seek it again.”

“If Death or Fate had disagreed with my request I would be dead.”

“You think that you are alive right now? Is this not your own corpse before you?” hissed the Son.

Magic pulsed again, and Merrin felt her soul longing to enter the body before her, the separation growing more painful with every passing moment.

“I- it is, but I do not think that it will remain so.”

The soul reenters the body.

The body cannot breathe.

*

A full coven of Witches circled the disturbed waters of the Sleeper’s pool. The Mothers led chants, entreating the spirits, seeking to learn the cause of the disturbance. Upon the water's surface they watched images flicker.

They watch a young Night Sister, alone, walking through their halls and markets, the whole world a graveyard.

The child struggles and starves, spiders and beasts move into their temples and hunt the child.

At last when the youngling is nearing the end, starvation showing on her body, she enters the temple of the Three. She bows to the figure of fate, she offers a gift to the figure of magic, and then the child kneels at the feet of death. Her head is bowed, sleep overtakes her.

The witches lining the pool glance around at each other, prepared to launch into debate about what their visions can mean. Mother Talzin, the Head Witch does not join their debate, she stares across the pool at another. Mother Morwenna, the leader of Misty Falls Clan, who are dedicated to the god of Death, keeps looking into the pool. For her, the visions are not yet concluded.

Talzin draws a knife and cuts across her palm. She collects the blood on a long fingertip and traces across her own forehead the sigils for understanding and clarity. She asks for the aid of her own clan's patron god, the Fanged One, to share her sister’s vision.

The pool’s surface transforms once again before her eyes.

The child, now a young girl, is eating among the nightbrothers. The eldest of them look her over covetously, the girl is oblivious, too young yet to mate, but even one look imparts the disgusting intent that threatens her. Talzin would kill the nightbrother with the learning face at once if he stood before her, but she does not know the male.

A human male becomes prominent in the visions. He guides the young girl away. Keeping her safe from the vile desires of the older Night Brothers. He reveals a talent for the use of magics, it is obvious from his interactions that the man was once a skilled jedi, though perhaps he was never a good person.

The human man and the child explore the grave and empty world. The girl begins to pull away from him. Her life is one of isolation. Not safe with the Night Brothers, and growing less and less trustful of the human man.

She disappears into crypts and libraries. She reads her way through works held by all the grand clans, the secrets of their people were laid bare to this child. With no guiding hand to steer her education; it is a wonder the forces do not tear her apart when she delves into magical practices better suited to full covens. Now that the girl is not starving, her magic has grown, she does not seem to struggle with the small or grand magical arts. She is dutiful to her patron gods, and respectful and cautious of the others. They all seem to dote on her.

Talzin and Morwenna stare under the surface, they see the lights of three souls trapped there, one bright like captured starlight the light carries with it the strength of a forge, one pink, as if marked by scars and wounds and yet healed all the same, flushed with life and passion. They meet with the ichor drenched light of a green soul and together power and mirror it.

They bind to it, reflecting and enhancing each other until the three that meet dance and become one. It is a gift to see it, the lights reflect the mating of a soul. The Night Sisters believe a soul is complete on its own, and yet when the right set meets, they may enhance each other; very few Night Sisters are able to meet their soulmates, but they all acknowledge the gift that it is. The silver light winks away and the remaining two separate, the pink one flashes and with the echoing sense of a laugh and wave is gone from sight. The green souls light begins to fade, seeping away and coalescing on another plane. Talzin and Morwenna know what they saw, but have no explanation or understanding of how the three souls met or where they are now, the green one is bound in place in the pool, and the answers it bears will only be known if the body survives being held in the waters of life.

*
When Merrin was very young, alone on her dead world, she had delved deeply into the secrets of her people's magic.

She had access to a great many texts filled with warnings and tales of the horrors their magics could unleash if their practitioners were greedy. Practicing magic as a nightsister involved bartering, and sacrifice to the spirits of the force they kept covenant with. The degree to which a sister could barter was unique for each individual, every relationship between sister and power source distinct.

Merrin had always been particularly gifted though, she could remember Mother Talzin calling her the favoured of the three in a number of her earliest memories. It is thanks to this that she was able to intervene when death came knocking.

The figure of death haunts Merrin’s steps, when the fanged god and winged goddess see him coming they flee. Death is the husband of Magick, their only child is Fate, all her life Merrin has felt closest to these three, despite the twin gods being more prominent in her peoples mythology.

Death ushers her soul back into its container. He turns and his skeletal hand reaches out from within his deep sleeves to point her towards the depths, where the form of the sleeper rouses. Then Death points his finger up, to the flickering lights on the surface of the pool. Finally his hand rests on her head, and his body leans down. Within the deep shadows of his hood a breath is exhaled, and Merrin the spirit feels air rush into her lungs, the first breath of a new life fills her, and the figure of Death is gone.

Merrin can’t see past the magical ichor when she blinks, it glows around her body, but she calls to it, and the ichor flares and re-enters her body, following her soul into its resting place.

Merrin looks down into the depths and prepares herself to deliver death, the fight with the sleeper is not something she looked to invoke in the past, but she will not let it be her end.

Water rushes around her as the beast lunges. Fangs and teeth lurch from the dark waters, but Merrin is ready, magic sits on her fingertips and with a delicately clenched fist, the beast's skeleton breaks. A mighty crushing blow ensures its corpse will be the one floating in the waters until it is called upon again.

*

Slowly, the figure of a young woman appears to the witches, swimming upwards and struggling in the water, her pale hair floats around her- she has obvious human ancestry, once she gets closer to the witches they see the faint marks of her Zabrack ancestry on her face and hands.

The witches standing in ritual around the pool do nothing to encourage her, it was the will of the magic itself that saw to her arrival in the waters of life, and she must pass the test on her own. Once she breaks the surface the girl's eyes take in her surroundings. She heaves gasping breaths and works her way to the edge of the pool, where steps descend down into the depths and she is able to stagger and crawl her way out, to lay at the feet of the gathered Mothers, acolytes and apprentices. The girl falls into a dead faint upon collapsing, and the witches pull her to lay in comfort while their deliberations begin.

“Who among us recognizes this girl?” Neldess asks.

“How much did you see, looking into the pool?” Talzin questioned.

Many faces became troubled, “There is much I saw, though little I was able to understand,” Thesis spoke, “Shadows filled much of my vision, but it was clear to me that a grand magical act has brought the girl to us, and that something terrible must have happened to the Nightsisters when she was young.”

“She is of my clan,” Morwenna replies, her voice slow and hesitant as she kneels and pushes wet locks from a weary visage. “The visions gifted by the pool let that much be known, but she remains unfamiliar to me.”

The mothers assembled share looks. “In the pool, I saw nothing so clear as to let me know her clan, but there was much to cause caution and worry.” Thesis said.

“The girl has done some illegal act to come to us here, in this manner!” Neldess insisted, taking a step closer to Morwenna who still knelt by her young clan daughter.

“She is not a criminal Neldess, we do not call acts illegal, even if they are thought to be impossible. It was the will of greater powers than you can comprehend that brought her to us.” Morwenna’s deep voice condemned her fellow clan head and she looked then to Talzin, whose bloody forehead reminded that she too had been witness to more of the vision.

“There is much we can determine already, from what was seen in the pool.” Talzin spoke. She stepped back from her place upon the dias at the head of the pool, and began walking around the crowd clustered by the girl. “Each of us must think deeply about the events of the night.”

Talzin walked with measured steps and a lethal grace, the whole of the crowd kept their gaze on her as she circled them lazily. “No matter how brief or insignificant your visions were, I ask you to meditate on it.” Talzin began pacing up the long flight of stairs to exit the chamber, and as she departed, her voice echoed back to them, bouncing off the steps. “The triumvirate will meet at dawn, and when the girl awakes-” here Talzin paused in her monologue to turn and look back at the group, seeming to seek out some information from the girl, “just after the dinner hour,” Talzin muses, beginning her ascent anew “a full inquiry will be held. We must all be ready to speak our part, to determine what we can of our visions and gather our knowledge before we question the child.”

Talzin turned back to speak directly to the assembled once more, “the child may rest in your care Morwenna, but know that if she is a threat to our people, your clan must claim responsibility for housing her. She is also welcome in my own clan's halls, in the dungeons, if you do not wish for such responsibility yourself.” Talzin raised one brow in question, waiting to hear what her right hand decided.

Morwenna kept her face neutral with great effort, affronted that a daughter of her clan, no matter her origins be threatened with the despair of the oubliettes in Talzin’s dungeons. “She will be kept comfortably with my own clan Talzin, there is no need for her to go anywhere else.”

Talzin turned her back once more and continued her slow departure, and Morwenna spoke to her acolyte whose cries alerted them to this whole mess.

“Mab,” Morwenna’s deep voice calls in an undertone, “go fetch Storm, bring him here and have the spare room in my home made ready for our unexpected guest.”

“Now Morwenna, you cannot whisk the child away so quickly, surely she must be examined first, who knows what she might curry with her” Neldess protested. Morwenna and Talzin coalesced their power around them as a threat against anyone else voicing a dissenting opinion, and Neldess subsided. The woman began her own ascent out of the chamber to meditate on her brief visions before she met with the other two ruling Mothers at a rapidly approaching dawn.

Morwenna waved her hand to send the young acolyte racing off on her way. The rest of the Mothers followed suit, leaving Morwenna to tend the child until her mate could bear her away.

*

The day passed with rushed footsteps, hushed whispers, and not a few group meditations. The citadel guards shift had been doubled, the huntresses' trip to the planes was put on hold, and the few males that lived in the settlement had been told to stay inside their clan compounds. The normal routines of Dathomir had all been disturbed, the hive kicked. 

Each sister reached out to feel the powers of Dathomir to which they were connected. They sought the might to defend themselves, to destroy that which disturbed them, the scholars among them were guided to books, tomes dusty and long forgotten telling tales that hinted at past precedence for the current feeling of churning powers. For overnight the deep well began to whisper of change, it carried new notes of caution, and to all it brought the permeating scent of death. That which made Dathomir Dathomir had seemingly been tainted overnight. 

The Triumvirate met early in the morning to meditate and share what each of their visions had revealed, as the day went by more and more mothers and elders were pulled into the great hall of the citadel to share their perspective. Mab herself had been called to speak as a witness, and four of the temple's guardians had come to escort her to the hall. 

The cross examination of Mab was frenzied and harsh as mothers, sisters, acolytes and initiates all critiqued her connections to the powers of Dathomir, each asking if she had called for aid too late or too soon, could they have witnessed more if they had arrived sooner. In the end they agreed Mab had done well in her duty as the watcher of the waters of life, and Mab was able to claim a seat with others of her clan along a wall and away from the spotlight. 

By the late afternoon, the meeting hall was filled, clusters of Nightsisters foregoing evening meals as they anticipated the testimony of their much discussed interloper. 

*

When Merrin woke, she lay in a cool room, the red sandstone of her homeworld surrounded her and the scents in the air called to a sense of childhood she had believed forgotten. 

She knows the feel of her planet, its contradictory sleepy, lulling, churning power, wakeful and watching, mists that rise and cling like cold fingers, breezes that drift and shiver. The planet does feel different from the last time she was there, but the power is the same. Nightsisters tap into the planet’s power, it is willing to be of use, but it does not need them. You might expect the planet to feel hot and dry in the middle of the day, with its blazing sun and warmed red stone, but the mists and humidity persist, resistant to atmospheric influence.

Gentle sounds of kitchen work drift from the open doorway, and Merrin rolled over in bed to take in her surroundings. She found herself draped in a sleep gown, with her own clothing nowhere in sight. An extra robe lays at the bottom of the bed and she cautiously pulls it on too. Thus dressed she ventures out to see her mysterious hosts and find a fresher if possible, her hair lies lank and her skin feels grimy. 

On the way to the kitchen she passed a shrine for the household gods and her footsteps slowed, she approached and looked at the figures, kneeling before them, she felt Deaths breath drift over her and smiled, at the familiar sensation, she shared a breath of her own, exhaling long and slow a thin thread of her own power over the household shrine and rose to move on.

The sun sat fat and pink in the evening sky, preparing to dip below the roofline and already turning the red stone purple in elongated shadows within the home's inner courtyard.

A Dathomirian male stood there, he wore only pants and a belt and tended a wok, feeding the fire beneath it in the outdoor kitchen. Like the environment around him, his skin was patterned in deep purple and flame with an impressive wreath of horns. 

Merrin’s clothes were washed strung on a line in the courtyard, her outer robe with its deep hood was missing, likely carried to the present by Cal, and even as Merrin missed it, she hoped it gave him comfort. The male gathered them for her and left her in a refresher to dress. She is instructed to prepare to attend the inquiry into her appearance.

After sharing supper with Storm, the male Dathomirian Zabrak, a temple guard comes to collect Merrin to answer the Witches Council’s questions.

Merrin stares at the guard in wonder, they look just like the illustrations she studied in books, as if the mosaics of the servian wall had come to life. The single guard became a squad when she stepped outside. The marvel lost its shine when they treated her like an enemy, jostling and pointing knocked arrows at her as they walked.

“We have come to collect the daughter from the waters of life,” their leader commanded.

“This is the girl,” Storm promised, handing her off to the guard.

“You will come with us, sister,” the guard captain decreed, “there are a great many eager to hear you speak before the host, you would do well not to lie before the tribunal.”

Merrin opened her mouth to ask questions, her curiosity and excitement at interacting with living sisters barely contained but before she could say anything she was cut off.

“Save your questions sister, until your circumstances here are known, you are an outsider.” The hostile guard captain commande.

Offended, Merrin replied, “I am your kin, a nightsister like you.”

“That is yet to be seen,” was her answer.

Again she prepared to argue, again she was cut off.

“Save your arguments for the tribunal child.”

From the compound of the Misty Falls clan the guards escorted Merrin. They took the wide paths, and crossed arching bridges that had crumbled to impassable rubble in Merrin’s time. 

Though she was surrounded by armed and wary warriors, Merrin couldn’t help but look around in wonder. Her head craned back to take in banners overhead, planters and vases and jugs of all kinds sat by doorways and on balconies, the architecture of her people was undamaged and everywhere she looked there were signs of life. 

The guards moved in formation around her, and eventually they came to a narrow bridge at the edge of her clan’s grounds. The Misty River clan occupied the summit of a mesa with a force fed spring and river at its center. The bridge connecting the mesa to the rest of the city lay partway down the cliff face and passed so close to the stream of the waterfall that you could reach out and touch the flowing waters. When crossing the bridge, the mists rose to envelop travellers and judge their being, offering welcome to clan kin and warnings to trespassers. Merrin could remember reading about the trial of the bridge in clan records, but it had been destroyed when her people were massacred.  

Their path left the clan lands and veered towards the public spaces of the market hall, workrooms, and acropolis holding the cluster of most important temples. Before they reached the circus maximus their path dipped low. A steep incline descending towards the forum lair. The path again spanned once destroyed bridges and Merrin slowed at times to take in the unfamiliar elements of her peoples architecture on their route. 

Eventually the path led underground, the darkness was lit with green fire burning at intervals to light the way. As the tunnel led deeper water began seeping from the stone walls, small rivulets carving crevasses into the soft stone underfoot and threatening to twist the ankles of the unsuspecting. 

The tunnel led deep, with curves and twists along the way, at times echoes and drips and the murmuring of distant voices bounced through the passage giving a taste of the gathering held beyond. 

At last the Nightsister’s forum was before them. In their underground hall, the walls seep water and puddles soak hems and splash underfoot. The power of the planet soaks the room, potent and sensory with every inhale. More green fire burns smokeless from torches on the walls, and carved benches line the walls in 27 stepped rows, at the head of the room, on a pedestal one step up from the ground sit three grand chairs. Thousands of Nightsisters can fit into the hall and it is much closer to capacity than not. 

Merrin is led by the guards to stand in the center of the floor, a mosaic depicting the planet Dathomir rests under her feet. The leader of the guards breaks away to speak quietly to Mother Talzin, and the other two leaders of the Triumvirate. The rest fall back, weapons still drawn to aim at Merrin from within the crowd.

Mother Talzin’s head bows to share whispers with the guard captain, but eventually she stands, tall and regal to address the crowds, with a wave of her arms, as if to embrace the collective she begins her address.

“The child before us has disturbed much since her arrival. Our visions are united, our questions are formed, we will soon know all that we seek.” Talzin’s gaze swept over the occupants of the hall, assuring and commanding, her heavy gaze held steady many sets of eyes from all corners of Dathomir and after a very long time came to rest on the interloper. Her long fingers twirled and powers rose to bind Merrin in place, the guards faded away into the crowd, and Talzin issued her first command, “tell us your name child and know that in this inquiry you must only ever speak the truth. If it comes to pass that we recognize you as one of us,” here her voice rose and cheers and jeers rang from the crowd, silencing when Talzin waved a hand in a calming gesture, “well then we will see to a proper welcome for a lost daughter of Dathomir, for now you will answer.” Talzin reclaimed her seat and in the whole of the forum, witches lent an ear to the proceedings. 

“I am Merrin, daughter of Morganna, of the Misty Falls clan, I am beholden to the god Death.”

“State now your purpose in coming here.” 

“I offered my life and soul and the lives and souls of my spirits partners to the God of Death. I placed what was harvested in his hands for there was nought but ash and waste offered to us by Life. From Death's hands, I came to be as I am.”

“She is an interloper, a false sister who lies,” the most bitter of the Triumvirate muttered.

You could try, Merrin thought, the green mists in the room lept a foot higher in reaction to the threat against her and seemed to thicken in the whole of the hall, but were dismissed by Talzin who made it clear to all that Merrin could not have lied, held as she was by Talzin’s spell.

“Tell us, what happened to the Daughters of Night in your time?”

“War came on the heels of the Sith, Sidious shares power with no one, and so that is what we became.” Merrin answered. The key to surviving the trap she stood in was to keep answers brief and vague, letting no lie pass her tongue, though some of the crowd had clearly hoped for a long winded personal account as an answer. 

“How is it that you alone survived?” one of the Triumvirate mused.

“On the day of the attack, I was in the care of Daka,” Merrin nodded to the elder in her council seat, “The other children were placed in a few hidden locations in the city, one group went onto the planes to evade purge troops. That cluster was gunned down by space ships, either guards or collapsed buildings or General Grievous himself killed the others.”

Many in the hall turned to stare at Daka, and the girl followed their gaze to catch on her one time mentor. The old witch looked back at none of them, her hands were clasped on the handle of her cane, her chin rested on her hands, and her eyes were closed. Only the exaggerated nodding of her tall headdress communicated her nodding in response to being named. Though she did not look with her eyes, Merrin was familiar with the elders' means of observing through their shared connections to the powers of Dathomir. 

Merrin let her gaze trail around the room once more, and a feeling passed between the two, of teacher and student, of grandmother and granddaughter, of parental care and best hopes, thoughts and prayers and happy memories. Merrin stood taller, noting the pride in Daka’s spirit as she looked over the girl.

“Who is General Grievous?” was the next panicked question, and Talzin scowled at the speaker for daring to inquire out of turn.

“He was a pawn, though a highly skilled and deadly one, in service to the Sith.”

“Why did he attack us?”

“Because the sith do not share power,” Merrin repeated.

“We have allied with the sith in the past,” the final Triumvirate member to speak voiced. She had slightly more human features than the other two and wore her hair in the same style as Merrin.

“You might consider allying with the Jedi in the future,” she replied, more of us might survive if you did, she thought.

An outcry rose at that and it was some time later that order was restored.

“We now share a common enemy,” Merrin insisted, “the sith are not friends to us.”

“I do not trust them, the Jedi hold no love for differing traditions, we do not use the force, we commune with Dathomir itself, not the darkness they erroneously seek to eradicate. They despise other force traditions,” argued a passionate voice from the crowd.

“There is a nightsister, named Asajj Ventress that is currently a padawan,” Merrin spoke. Learning the troubled life story of one of the few living dathomiran witches after traveling with Cal had been a surprise, but Merrin felt hope at sharing the news here and now, with her new life much that once was could change, Asajj’s life would not follow the same course if Merrin could altar it. 

This revelation derails the rest of the tribunal, uncovering Talzin’s trade with a pirate slaver. It had not been Merrin’s intent, and for a while she stood forgotten in her prison in the center of the forum.

Asajj’s mother rages at Talzin once her actions become known, but Talzin silences her and all her other opposition. It is clear that she is very popular, and her apologies and public vows return the inquiry to its original purpose, though it is not long at all before the inquiry is closed.

Merrin is handed off to her clan to be initiated and incorporated, but she keeps pushing to have her requests heard. As part of her dismissal Mother Talzin arched a brow and stared the girl down a moment before waving a hand to dissipate the mists that held her. “I do not intend to kill the girl, but we are not kind to outsiders or intruders, she must be judged, to see if she is truly one of us,” was the proclamation made to the assembly. 

At the announcement, Merrin felt her stress ratchet up, there was much of her people's culture that had been purged from books, or never written down to begin with. She was eager to engage with living Dathomirian witches, and yet they were an intimidating bunch to have to prove yourself to. Nevertheless, Merrin nodded her head, fiercely proud to be counted as a member of the sisterhood of this time too. 

The Mother that looked like her rose, walked down to embrace Merrin and spoke, “by your hand you delivered death, by blood and magic you were bound, and yet you returned to us. I am Morwenna, Mother of your clan. You have come to us for a reason, daughter. I would know what you want from this new life?”

Merrin rested in the comforting arms of a Mother, for the first time in her memory and thought carefully about her answer. 

“I have met my soul mates, Cal and Boba, each of us survived being the last of our people alone, we found each other and I would seek them out again, to be alone is an awful thing. But I would not go without first knowing my clan and my kin.”

“They are men,” Morwenna frowned, “they are not your peers.” 

“It is not the way for the women of Dathomir to shape their lives around the whims of men.” cautioned a new member of her clan that fell in to walk with them as the crowds filed out of the forum hall.

Merrin scoffed in response, “you're not my peers either. Surviving as I did leaves scars, and I can't see myself fitting into life on Dathomir, knowing the dangers that threaten it. I would keep you safe, and seek out our enemies before they make their own way here.”

“We have been warned, we will not be defeated again,” Morwenna promised. Though Merrin was unconvinced.

“This is preposterous, the future does not unfold the same twice, there is no proof that we need to fear.” The unnamed sister argued.

“If you would seek to become our protection, I would have you do it for our sake, not some vaporous imagining of your past,” Morwenna reasoned. “Stay and learn to see us as we are, assess our strengths and weaknesses.”

Grumbling followed the suggestion that Dathomir was weak. 

“You cannot kill an idea,” Morwenna cautioned, “Merrin represents a part of us, she is the mirror by which our ideals are held up, she is what remains when we are gone, from her we may learn much of ourselves.”

All among the crowds filtering out of the tunnel and back towards the clan and temple lands, Nightsisters agreed with Morwenna’s reasoning. Nightsisters are notoriously hostile to outsiders, but for each other they offer support, there was much curiosity about what the clans could glean from the sole survivor of the pogrom that ended the Nightsisters in a foreign future. 

Morwenna’s arm draped heavily over Merrin’s shoulder steering and comforting her young clan member, “and so before we can give you any guidance or blessing to go forth into the galaxy Merrin, you must first be fully initiated as one of us, you can go nowhere until you know that you can always come back home to Dathomir.”