FORTY FOUR.
the mandalorians!
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IG-11's metal feet make repetitive clanging noises on the ground behind them as they move forward, quiet and careful. The end of the tunnel spills out into a wider passageway, with what looks like metal tracks set into the floors. Greef moves past Cara and Din as they stop, pivoting on his heels to look down both ways of the seemingly endless tunnel.
"Do you know which way to go?" Greef asks, turning with Zoya still held in his arms. He shifts her up a bit, and she feels a rush of guilt as a slight tremor runs through the Guild leader's muscles. He must be getting tired.
Din shakes his head minutely, the beam of light emanating from his helmet shifting its ray across the ground. "No," he says. "I don't know these tunnels." As soon as his admission tastes the air, Cara chooses to turn right, flashlight flickering across the dark, stained walls. "I've only entered from the bazaar."
They keep moving through the tunnel, passing by entrances that branch off in every direction. "Well, if we get the smell of sulfur, and we follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows," Greef says.
"And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship," Din replies, his voice strained and deep and trembling as it washes through the darkness. "We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety."
They veer off down a separate path, and as Greef walks past the wall a little too close, Zoya's boot catches on the surface, and her leg gives a particularly nasty twinge. "Fuck." She winces, digging the nails of one of her hands into her palm.
Greef glances down at her, concern washing across his face. "You all right?"
"Yeah," she mutters. "Just fine. Are you? You can put me down if—"
"I'm good," he says. "I may be on the older side, but my arms are as strong as ever. It helps that you barely weigh ten pounds."
Zoya snorts. "Right. I felt you start shaking a little bit four steps ago."
"Well it's not like you can walk."
Din, wincing beneath the helmet as he stumbles forward ahead of them, leaning on Cara, feels something shaped like a dagger of ice twist into his heart. Though there hadn't been time nor a chance to explain how her leg had been seared almost all the way through, blood pooling around her in the dirt, everything that he'd seen had told him what Zoya had not—or could not. Her body, limp in the dust, blaster fallen beside her fingers. The corpse, collapsed nearby. What she'd said, when Din wanted them to leave him behind. I can't lose you, too. A fist of obsidian squeezes tightly around his chest because he knows deep down what she had to do, and a thread of guilt so thick and twisted and painful that it burns wreathes him in its dark glow.
"IG," Din says quietly. The droid quickens his speed to walk beside Din and Cara. "Do you have any more of that bacta spray?"
"The woman's injury is not the type of wound the spray is meant to heal," IG-11 replies in his metallic voice. Though it's the response Din expected, he shakes his head.
"At least try."
Releasing the sound of a sigh—which sounds so human-like that it raises the hairs on the back of Din's neck—the droid falls back beside Greef, and they all stop. Peeling away the makeshift bandage, revealing what looks like a hole in Zoya's leg, IG-11 lifts his arm.
"What are you doing?" Zoya asks nervously.
"Trying to help." IG sprays over her leg carefully. Though the smaller, torn lesions around the injury begin to slowly knit themselves back together, the actual wound Ayaan's bolt had sawed through her skin remains gruesome and raw and burnt. "Bacta spray failed," he says, and somehow there's a softer shade to his robotic voice, as if he feels distraught himself.
"It's okay," Zoya says quietly, throat tightening as she tries to keep pain from presenting itself in her tone.
After a tense, strained beat where everyone tries not to look at the horrific mess of Zoya's thigh and ultimately fails, they continue forward, winding through passageways and trudging along until it feels like they've been lost for hours, when in reality, it's probably only been minutes.
"Ugh!" Cara's frustration rises. "This place is a maze."
Almost immediately, Din looks around, taking in their surroundings, and says, "Stop." Something about the passage seems familiar. Carefully, he removes his arm from around Cara's shoulders, moving forward on unsure legs. "I can stand."
"The bacta infusion is working," IG-11 observes.
"I'll try to find tracks." The light from his helmet scans the ground as Din turns his head. He points to the faint imprints of boots on the ground. "We're close."
Without delay, he moves forward, leading the group. Cara falls in beside Greef as they walk. "Give me Zoya," she says. "I'll carry her for a stretch."
Greef almost instinctively pulls her closer to his chest, feeling a rush of protectiveness for the girl who'd so dreadfully hated him at first, but he knows that his arms need a break, even if he won't admit it aloud. "Okay," he says.
Zoya reaches up and pats Greef's head awkwardly, unsure of how else to express her gratefulness. "Thanks for carrying me," she manages.
As Cara carefully hooks her arm underneath Zoya's legs, all Greef can do is nod in response. He ensures that Zoya's tucked safely against Cara's chest before stepping back, extending his sore arms down by his sides, feeling a sharp ache burrow into his biceps.
"How are you?" Cara says, wincing at how lame it sounds outside her head.
"Fucked up, apparently," Zoya replies casually, gesturing to her thigh. "Guess I'm never gonna run a marathon."
Cara laughs, and though it's strained, something within her is relieved at how normal Zoya manages to sound. As if this hasn't broken her. "You didn't like running anyway."
"I could have. Eventually."
"Turn here," Din says then, cutting off their playful banter. He turns into another passageway, this one slightly smaller and the ceiling lower. And then, after the beam of light coming from his helmet flickers off the walls to the floor, he stops dead.
Cara, Zoya in her arms, and Greef come up on either side of him. What lays before them chills Zoya to the bone. Dozens of Mandalorian helmets, painted various colors and forged in various styles, and pieces of Beskar, molded into chest guards and arm guards and other plates, are piled in a dull heap, gleaming ominously.
Slowly, Din reaches up and clicks off the light on his helmet, stepping forward so slowly it's as if the ground is made of glass, and he fears it will shatter at any second. When he reaches the mound, he sinks to his knees, and Zoya presses harder into Cara's chest, because the pain emanating from Din is so powerful that she can feel it carve into her own heart.
Din picks up one of the helmets, fingers trembling, tears flowering on his cheeks as Cara eases up behind him.
"We should go," she says quietly.
"You go. Take the ship. I can't leave it this way." Suddenly furious, Din's head snaps to Greef. "Did you know? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?" he snarls, voice scathing.
"No," Greef says, shocked. "When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended, and the hunters just melted away." Din stares at the empty helmet. "You know how it is. They're mercenaries. They're not zealots."
Din drops the helmet back onto the pile and whirls as he stands, voice rising like the fury of a maelstrom. "Did you do this? Did you?" He jabs his gloved finger into Greef's chest as he explodes forward.
"No!" Greef shouts back.
Then, a woman's voice rises from the shadows, and Cara spins, nearly dropping Zoya as she startles. "It was not his fault." A figure emerges, gold helmet shining, fur rimming her neck and shoulders beneath the Mandalorian armor that conceals her figure. "We revealed ourselves," she continues. "We knew what could happen if we left the covert." She lifts a piece of Beskar from the pile, considers it, then places it softly into a cart hovering at her side. "The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted."
Din looks down at the discarded Beskar. "Did any survive?"
"I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world," she replies.
"Come with us," Din says.
The woman doesn't even look up. "No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains." She finishes filling the cart and pushes it out of sight without a backward glance.
Din moves forward after her without saying a word. Confused, Zoya glances up at Cara, who glances at Greef, who glances back at Zoya. An unspoken question flickers between them, but they follow Din without receiving an answer.
Inside the room where the other Mandalorian disappeared is a furnace. Spires of blue flame surround its circular mouth in even intervals. They glow brightly in the dim light provided by small fixtures hung about the space, shining a dull orange that brings life back into Zoya's skin. The woman steps up onto a platform that encircles the furnace, pushing the cart beside the plumes of fire and keeping her back to them.
Metal clanks as she slowly lowers the Beskar, piece by piece, into the furnace to be melted. Cara and Greef file in behind Din with IG-11, and Cara carefully sets Zoya down on an overturned crate to rest.
"Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction," the female Mandalorian says, turning to face Din and the droid.
"This is the one," Din says.
The woman gazes at the child's small, round, green face poking out from the bag hanging around the droid's neck. "This is the one that you hunted, then saved?"
Din nods. "Yes. The one that saved me as well."
"From the mudhorn?"
"Yes."
"It looks helpless," she comments. The child lowers his head and looks up at the woman with big, doughy brown eyes, cooing a little as if to agree.
"It's injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind," Din tells her, and Zoya's muscles coil.
Just fucking kill each other! the voice in her mind screams, anger swelling in her heart, a wreath of crimson flames that consumes the humanity, the compassion still lingering, still waiting for a chance to be brought into the light. Then—as if moved by her hand—the Stormtrooper turns and murders his own comrade, the Death trooper bound in armor as black as night.
"I know of such things," the female Mandalorian says, fracturing the memory. Zoya's fingers curl around the edge of the crate until it bites into her skin. "The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi that fought with such powers."
"It is an enemy?" asks Din, and the concern in his voice is enough to show that he values her knowledge highly.
"No. Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not."
"What is it?"
She spares a quick glance at the child as she works. "It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care."
"You wish me to train this thing?" Din asks incredulously, as if it's an inconsiderable idea even after how long he's been carrying and protecting the child.
Her voice hardens. "It is too weak; it would die. You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind."
"Where?"
"This you must determine."
Din stares at her. "You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?"
She turns to him, quiet blades of steel in her voice. "This is the Way." And with that, she turns, letting a narrow hammer fall down upon a curve of Beskar, flattening it down towards the table she works at.
Cara's hand slips off Zoya's shoulder as she steps towards the female Mandalorian, tension radiating from the set of her shoulders. "Hey. These tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan."
The woman doesn't look Cara's way. "If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats."
"I think we should go," Greef says.
Zoya's eyes flick to him, and she nods silently, wincing as she shifts her weight, leg screaming. "We should."
"I'm staying," Din says.
Zoya releases a frustrated breath. "Gods. Here we go again."
"I need to help her, and I need to heal," he replies flatly, turning to look at her.
"Gonna be hard to heal with Imps shooting new holes into your thick skull," Zoya snaps, fingers digging into the crate, eyes burning through his helmet.
"You must go," the female Mandalorian interrupts, voice firm, but still Din stares at Zoya, feeling something splintering between them, cracks fracturing into chasms that begin to seem insurmountable. "A foundling is in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father." Silence reigns. Then the child gurgles, and Din stares at him, unable to come up with a response. The Mandalorian is quiet but hardened when she speaks their mantra. "This is the Way." Turning, she faces Din, holding a symbol forged in gleaming silver. "You have earned your Signet."
He doesn't say a word as she crosses to him, pressing it against the Beskar of his right shoulder. Sparks fly at random intervals as she molds it against the armor. Even once its finished, Zoya cannot make out what the symbol is, or what it might mean.
"You are a clan of two," she says, stepping back.
"Thank you," Din murmurs. "I will wear this with honor."
The rumble of faraway explosions rattles through the room, trembling through the walls and pulsating through the soles of Zoya's boots. She presses her fingertips to the surface of the crate, eyes falling closed. The vibrations careen through her body, made of electricity and hellfire, and for a moment, she sees something. Stormtroopers, running, blasters raised and ready. In a flash, it's gone, and her eyes are wide, a glittering sheen of sweat on her forehead.
Greef turns to them, eyes openly displaying his concern. "We should go."
"IG, please guard the outer hallway," the woman says to the droid. "A scouting party draws near."
IG-11 turns and promptly pushes the satchel containing the child into Cara's arms. Her face blanches, and she holds it at arm's length. "Hang on. I don't do the baby thing," she says, nose wrinkling as the child's hand extends towards her face.
The droid doesn't reply, turning on his heel to walk towards the exit. Cara flashes Zoya a look over her shoulder, incensed, and Zoya manages a sympathetic look, though she loves the little creature herself. The child had tried to kill the ex-shock trooper once.
"I have one more gift for your journey," the Mandalorian tells Din. "Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?"
"When I was a boy," Din says softly. "Yes."
"Then this," she says, turning to face him with a device of some sort in her hands, "will make you complete." Zoya squints, trying to get a good look at the object, but she can't manage to make it out.
Din's demeanor flips, and he becomes almost solemn. "Thank you."
"When you have healed, you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands," the female Mandalorian instructs, and Zoya's brow furrows.
It won't listen? Is it sentient? Is it another fucking droid—
"I understand," Din replies.
The sound of blasters firing ricochets into the room, drawing their attention. The wall outside is splattered with crimson stains from the bolts in irregular intervals until a loud, echoing thud cuts off the noise. Cara's blaster is in her hand within a millisecond, and Greef falls back beside Zoya, standing slightly in front of her.
But in the end, it's only IG-11 who steps into view, lowering his weapons as he pivots towards them. "You are protected."
The other Mandalorian turns to Din, still holding out the device. "More will come. You must go."
"Come with us," Din urges.
"My place is here." There's a note of finality in her voice. "Restock your munitions. IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it." The droid takes up the device as Greef lifts Zoya from where she sits atop the crate, preparing to flee. "Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey."
"Thank you," Din says, and leaves her behind.
He catches up with the others with a few rushed steps, eyes catching on Zoya in Greef's arms, leg useless and ruined. And for a moment, he wonders if it'll ever heal properly, if she'll ever be able to walk normally again. His mind spins, but one thought is clear through the turmoil. I should have told her. I should have told her.
But Din knows that it's too late.
It isn't long before blaster fire sounds in the passageway behind them, and the group exchanges a tense look, quickening their pace as much as they can down the sloping tunnel until heat wafts back up at them, curling around the bend of the passageway. When they emerge, a molten, sluggishly moving river is visible ahead, glowing with spidery threads of bright, angry orange and red.
"This is the lava river," Greef says, and Zoya can see it lingering on the horizon, brightly shining around the blistering heat, beckoning them forward with freedom filled eyes, telling her that they can all make it out alive.
Hope.
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i have to stop procrastinating on updating this bc it's so close to being finished. (98% sure that chapter 45 will be the final one 🥺) on a happier note, i made a netflix edit for this story, and if u didn't see it on my instagram (inkwolves.wp), u can take a look at it in the gallery! it's the first image posted, and i'm honestly v proud of it ngl 😳 anyways love u guys, i hope you're still enjoying this book! 💓