Cataclysm ─── The Mandalorian. ¹

xxxv. when the galaxy dies

"Curious?" Cara repeats. "It almost killed me!"

"The story you told me of the mudhorn now makes more sense," Kuiil says, looking up at Din.

Beneath the helmet, Din's jaw clicks. "What is it?"

"What it is, I don't know. But what it does, this . . . this I've heard rumors of," Kuiil replies, deep in thought.

Old legends resurface in Zoya's mind. Dark and light, fighting for victory over the other, two sides of the same coin, the same deep, strong force. Her forehead creases as she tries to remember one of her mother's stories. There was someone dark and powerful, someone who died for the light, in the end. What was his name?

Cara's hand still rests at her throat as she cuts back at Kuiil, fear staining her face in a way that Zoya's never seen before. "What? When you worked for the Empire?"

"When I was sold to the Empire, in indentured servitude." His voice is hard. Din and Zoya exchange a look, the same thoughts running through their heads.

"Yet somehow," Cara says, rising, "you walk free."

"Cara—" Zoya starts.

"I bought my freedom through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes," Kuiil interrupts, his voice scathing. The IG droid approaches from behind, sensing his master's emotions, and Zoya feels rather than sees Din tense. "Do not cast doubt upon that of what I am, nor whom I shall serve."

"Tell you what," Din says smoothly. "I could really use your craftwork right now. Can you pad this container so the child can sleep better?"

The Ugnaught's hand touches the child gently. "I shall fabricate a better one. Then, perhaps this Dropper can see how one can win their freedom with the skill of one's hands." And with that, Kuiil turns and walks away.

Zoya catches Din's eye, mouthing nice one as Cara massages her throat, moving towards the ladder. His helmet dips, and she's unaware that he mouths thanks back, forgetting momentarily that she can't see him through the visor. She smiles anyways at their silent communication, stepping around the edge of the table to be closer to him.

"You diffused that situation pretty well," she compliments.

"Yeah?" he asks, and she nods.

"I'm impressed."

His heart nearly skips a beat. "You are?"

Zoya grins. "Definitely." Before she can think twice, she lifts herself onto her tiptoes and presses her lips against the cool metal of his helmet, so quick that Din wonders, hours later, if he'd only imagined it. "Let's go up with Cara, yeah? I want to make sure she's okay."

"Of course," Din replies, when really he's not listening at all, just staring blankly at the details of her face, so beautiful and structured that it looks as if the gods carved her from the stars themselves, using painstaking care to etch each feature with burning moondust.

Zoya's halfway up the ladder before he thinks to move, wondering when he'd fallen so hard for her.

｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Zoya rests her chin on her knees, staring out the windows as the galaxy flies by, deep tones of onyx and ivory, darkness and light. Cara leans against the wall, expression drawn into something Zoya can't read, while Din sits in the pilot's seat, eyes fixed on the control panel as a few different things beep, glowing with crimson and amber and azure lights.