I am absolutely convinced that one: Din would do anything not to be the Mandalor after getting the Darksaber and two; the Force is trying her hardest to make it so that Din is stuck being in charge of a planet because she saw how the previous ones handled it and said ‘fuck it, this dad is gonna be in charge now’
I’m talking like the Force is making it impossible for Din to get bested. He won 57 times in a row at rock-paper-scissors against Bo-Katan for the Darksaber and then weeped for an hour after. He dramatically falls onto the ground every time someone touches him and nudged the ‘saber towards them. Bounty hunters and assassins that goes after him for the Darksaber are always somehow thwarted before they can get to him but the ones that aren’t there for the Darksaber are allowed to fight him. He is so done, and every Force-sensitive person he meets is always like ‘wtf did this guy do’
Summary: The eldest of the Kryze sisters. The lost heir of Mandalore. Jango Fett’s secret.
Twenty years before the Clone Wars, the fiercest daughter of House Kryze vanished without a trace — a warrior of honor and fire, feared even among Death Watch. Some said she died. Others said she betrayed her clan. The truth was worse: frozen in carbonite, left behind in a forgotten hideout… waiting for someone who never came back.
Now, Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody discover her by chance. Woken from stasis, still in her battle-scarred underlayer, she is disoriented, dangerous — and grieving.
As the Republic’s war against the Separatists rages on, she must reclaim her place in a galaxy that moved on without her. With Mandalore divided, and every clone soldier bearing the face of the man she once loved, she’ll be forced to face the ghosts of her past — and decide whether she will fight for the future.
⸻
Twenty years ago, the planet of Mandalore burned.
Cities once ruled by blood-bound clans collapsed into ruin. Dust-choked skies replaced the proud banners that once flew high. And at the center of it all stood House Kryze, fractured and bloodied, struggling to hold its legacy together.
You were the firstborn — the eldest of the Kryze daughters — warrior-born and bred beneath beskar and tradition. Before Satine sought peace, before Bo-Katan sharpened her anger into steel, there was you. Your presence commanded silence in war councils. Your spear shattered bone and saber alike. You were the heir to Mandalore.
And then, in the heart of the Civil Wars, you vanished.
Some whispered that you fell in battle, your body never recovered. Others believed you betrayed your clan, a ghost walking among Death Watch or worse. Your sisters never spoke of you again.
Until now.
⸻
The dust was thick in the old hideout — enough to make a trooper cough through his helmet filters. Even Commander Cody, known for his iron composure, hesitated as they stepped through the massive durasteel blast doors. They’d stumbled across the structure by accident during a sweep for Separatist munitions. Hidden in the cragged side of a moon orbiting Kalevala, it was old. Pre-Clone Wars. Pre-Republic, almost.
“This place has Jango Fett written all over it,” Cody muttered, his voice low and unreadable beneath the modulator.
Obi-Wan Kenobi knelt beside a cracked Mandalorian helmet, the surface blackened with age and blast scorching. “He always had a taste for the dramatic,” the Jedi murmured. “But he was never sloppy. Why leave this place behind?”
Cody motioned for his men to fan out. “Sir — over here.”
Three clone troopers stood at the entrance to a wide chamber lit by flickering emergency lighting. The bodies had long since rotted down to nothing — just skeletons in rusting beskar. But at the center of the room was something far more disturbing.
A carbonite slab. Upright. Inactive. Cold as death.
Obi-Wan approached slowly, his hand hovering near his lightsaber.
The figure trapped inside the carbonite was unmistakably Mandalorian — feminine, tall, strong in posture even in frozen stasis. The angle of her shoulders spoke of authority. The faint outline of scars. And something about her face made Obi-Wan pause.
“This can’t be…” His words trailed off.
“Who is she?” Cody asked, stepping closer.
Obi-Wan hesitated. “A ghost. Possibly the last heir to House Kryze before Satine.”
Cody blinked. “There was another sister?”
Before Kenobi could answer, a clone trooper brushed dust from the panel beside the slab. Lights sparked to life. Without warning, the carbonite hissed and groaned as the release cycle began. Everyone fell back, weapons half-drawn.
And then — a shriek of air.
A splash of mist.
And you collapsed forward, eyes unfocused, limbs trembling from stasis.
You were barely clothed — In only your under garments. Your knees buckled the moment you hit the floor.
Obi-Wan caught you with both arms. “Easy, you’re safe,” he said gently, guiding you into a sitting position.
Your breaths came in ragged gasps. “I can’t see,” you whispered, a low rasp in your throat.
“The blindness is temporary,” Obi-Wan reassured you. “Carbonite sickness. It’ll pass.”
Your head turned, trying to place the voices around you. You heard boots. Blasters. Steel. Something was wrong. Someone was missing.
Then you heard it.
“Commander,” one of the troopers said.
And that voice — his voice — was like a knife through your heart.
Your eyes widened, still sightless. You clutched at Obi-Wan’s robes.
“Jango?”
Silence.
You said it again, your voice cracking. “Jango, where are you?”
No one answered. Obi-Wan only pulled you a little closer. “We’ll get you to safety. I promise.”
You pushed yourself up, unsteady. “My chest. I need my armor.”
Two clone troopers exchanged a glance and moved swiftly to the far end of the chamber, where a large iron chest sat sealed tight. They struggled to lift it together, grunting under its weight.
You turned your head toward the sound, even as your legs gave out beneath you again.
“I need it,” you repeated, weaker now.
“We’ve got it,” Cody said. “Just hold on.”
And then darkness overtook you, your body finally succumbing to the trauma of reawakening. Obi-Wan caught you again as you slumped forward, and for a long moment, no one said a word.
“Get her to the ship,” Kenobi ordered. “And bring the chest.”
⸻
The sterile hum of medical equipment was the first sound you registered. Then came the stinging ache in your muscles, the raw dryness in your throat, and the low pulse of something not unlike mourning in your chest. Your senses clawed their way back into focus, one by one — light, sound, weight — until you realized you were lying flat on your back.
The air smelled wrong. Too clean. Too… Republic.
You blinked slowly. Harsh white lights above. Cool sheets beneath you. A distant hiss of bacta systems.
You weren’t in a Mandalorian stronghold.
You weren’t even on Mandalore.
You tried to sit up but collapsed with a grunt. A pair of strong hands steadied your shoulders before you could fall.
“Careful,” came a familiar voice — gentle, measured, older than you remembered. “You’ve only just stabilized.”
Your vision swam as you turned toward the sound. When it cleared, you stared up into the bearded face of Obi-Wan Kenobi.
A ghost from your past.
You blinked, eyes narrowing in confusion. “You’re not a youngling anymore.”
He gave you a small, dry smile. “I was never a youngling when we met. I was a Padawan.”
You exhaled through your nose — a sound that might’ve been a scoff, or a laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He didn’t take offense. He simply pulled a stool closer to your bedside and sat with the practiced calm of someone who had been waiting. Observing.
You looked down at yourself. Someone had draped a blanket over you, but underneath, your body was still clad in the thin, black underlayer you wore beneath your beskar — torn in places, streaked with dried blood and carbon scoring.
Your voice came out hoarse. “Where’s my chest?”
“Safe. On board. Two of our men are guarding it,” Kenobi replied. “We didn’t open it.”
“Good,” you muttered, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “I wouldn’t want to kill someone first thing out of stasis.”
Silence stretched between you for a moment. The ache behind your eyes throbbed — not just from stasis sickness, but memory.
Kenobi leaned forward slightly. “Can you tell me what happened? Before we found you?”
You let your eyes fall shut again, your voice tight. “I was waiting for him.”
“Who?”
You didn’t need to say the name. But you did anyway.
“Jango.”
Kenobi didn’t interrupt.
“I’d just come back from a mission. I was resting. No armor. Just… this,” you gestured vaguely at yourself. “He said he’d return within the cycle. Said he had business on Concord Dawn.” You swallowed hard. “But he didn’t.”
Your brows furrowed. Your voice hardened, as if recounting it aloud might give it structure. Control.
“They found me — a rival clan. Maybe one of the politicians who hated that I still bore the title of heir.” You flexed your hands slowly. “I was at a disadvantage. No armor. No weapons. Just instinct.”
“And you survived,” Kenobi said, impressed despite himself.
You opened your eyes, staring blankly ahead.
“I killed them. All but one.” Your voice dropped. “He lobbed a grenade just as I landed the final blow. I fell backward into the chamber. I reached for the console, trying to close it behind me as cover.”
A bitter smile touched your lips.
“I must’ve hit the wrong command. Locked myself in. Froze myself alive.”
Kenobi said nothing for a long moment.
You turned your head toward him. Your voice was quieter now — brittle at the edges. “He was supposed to come back for me. Jango. He knew where I was. Why didn’t he come back?”
Kenobi’s blue eyes met yours, calm but solemn.
“I can’t answer that question,” he said gently.
You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. The silence said everything.
Kenobi stood slowly, pacing once as though choosing his words carefully. “A lot has changed since then. Mandalore… has changed.”
You closed your eyes again. “I don’t imagine Satine fared well after I vanished.”
He hesitated. “Your sister leads now — as Duchess. She’s taken a… pacifist route. A movement called the New Mandalorians.”
That made your lip curl faintly in disbelief. “Pacifist? Satine?”
Kenobi gave a rueful chuckle. “She’s very committed to it.”
“Bo-Katan?” you asked.
“She opposes your sister. Fiercely. She joined Death Watch.”
You sucked in a slow breath. Of course.
“What about the war?” you asked. “The Jedi — you wouldn’t be here unless—”
He nodded, eyes shadowing. “There’s a war raging across the galaxy. The Republic against the Separatists. Led by Count Dooku, a former Jedi.”
“Of course,” you muttered. “You people always manage to keep things messy.”
The words hit like a slugthrower to the chest. Your breath caught.
“He died early in the war. On Geonosis. Killed by Master Windu.”
You looked away. Your jaw clenched.
He wasn’t perfect. But he was yours. And now… he was just another name lost to history.
Kenobi added gently, “He left a son.”
Your head snapped toward him. “What?”
“A clone. Not like the others. An unaltered one. His name is Boba.”
You blinked slowly, stunned silent.
Everything you knew — the politics, the clans, the galaxy itself — had moved on without you.
And now you were awake, a relic of a time no one wanted to remember.
Kenobi’s silence was careful, but not unkind. You could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying.
After a long pause, his voice broke softly through the quiet hum of the medbay.
“How did you know Jango?”
Your fingers gripped the edge of the blanket, suddenly too aware of your own heartbeat. You didn’t answer right away — not out of hesitation, but memory. You stared down at your hands, calloused, scarred, strong. Hands that once held his cheek. Held a blaster to his enemies. Held his hand across star maps and sleeping bags and stolen months.
“He saved my life.”
Kenobi stayed still, listening.
“I was seventeen. Just after I broke from the main clan. I haf a price on my head — said I was too soft for the throne, too traditional to fall in line with their version of Mandalore.” You gave a humorless laugh. “I’d been ambushed. Took three blaster bolts to the side. I was dying.”
You shifted, wincing as a jolt of pain surged from your hip to your ribs.
“He found me in a ditch. Didn’t know who I was at first. Thought I was just another half-dead warrior with more pride than sense.”
Kenobi’s lips lifted slightly. “He wasn’t wrong.”
You smirked faintly, but your eyes stayed distant.
“He got me to shelter. Patched me up. Didn’t ask questions — not until I could walk again. Then we fought. Then we drank. Then we fought again.” You leaned your head back against the pillow. “We were both young. Angry. Sharp. One thing led to another.”
Kenobi’s brows rose just slightly, but he said nothing.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes. “You’ve had a long life to get tangled up in someone’s sheets.”
He raised both hands lightly, a dry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’d be surprised.”
Your expression sobered.
“He never told me he was planning to sell his skills to the Republic. I guess… we were both trying to find something to believe in back then. He found a price. I found a war.”
“Did you love him?” Kenobi asked quietly.
You didn’t flinch. “Yes. And no. We weren’t the type to say it. It was survival. It was instinct. It was…” You trailed off, then added, “He understood me. That’s more than I can say for most.”
Kenobi nodded. “And he never came back.”
You swallowed hard and looked away. “No.”
A beat passed.
“I think he meant to,” you added quietly. “But war… has a way of pulling people apart.”
Kenobi didn’t argue.
You sighed, dragging a hand through your tangled hair. “I need my armor.”
“You’re still recovering,” he cautioned. “It might be better to rest before—”
“I’ve rested long enough,” you snapped, your voice low but hard. “Twenty years, Kenobi.”
That gave him pause. He studied you a moment longer, then inclined his head.
“I’ll have it brought in.”
You nodded once and leaned back, muscles aching, heart heavy. But beneath it all, something deeper stirred.
Mandalore was fractured. The galaxy was on fire. Jango was dead.
But you were alive.
And you were going to find your place in this new galaxy — or carve one out for yourself.
⸻
The holotransmission stabilized with a flicker, casting cold blue light across the bridge of the Resolute.
Duchess Satine Kryze stood tall in the projection, her expression carefully composed — as always — but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something else. Caution. Curiosity. Perhaps even fear.
At her side, Prime Minister Almec stood like a shadow, posture stiff, chin lifted in typical Mandalorian pride. His fingers curled slightly behind his back, where his discomfort wouldn’t be seen.
Obi-Wan Kenobi stood in front of the transmission, hands folded into his sleeves. Commander Cody stood just behind him, helmet clipped at his side, face unreadable.
“Duchess Satine. Prime Minister,” Obi-Wan began. “Thank you for taking this transmission on short notice.”
“You made it sound urgent,” Satine replied, her voice measured. “And your tone was… concerning.”
Kenobi inclined his head. “We’ve made a discovery. One I felt should be reported to you directly.”
Almec raised an eyebrow. “Something to do with the war effort?”
Obi-Wan’s expression didn’t shift. “No. This is… older than the war. Personal.”
Satine’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Go on.”
Kenobi gestured subtly toward Cody, who stepped forward.
“We were sweeping an old moon base above Kalevala — one of Jango Fett’s hideouts,” Cody said. “Inside, we found several Mandalorian corpses, long decayed… and a carbonite chamber. Intact. Still active.”
Satine didn’t speak. But she didn’t look away.
“We released the figure inside,” Obi-Wan continued. “A woman. Alive. Disoriented. She was in carbon freeze for over twenty years.”
Almec frowned. “Another of Fett’s associates, no doubt.”
“No,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I recognized her.”
That drew Satine’s full attention. Her posture stiffened.
Obi-Wan’s voice lowered with quiet certainty. “Her name is [Y/N] Kryze.”
Almec scoffed, but it was thin and nervous. “Impossible. The Duchess’s elder sister died during the Civil Wars. Her body was never found—”
“Because she wasn’t dead,” Kenobi interrupted. “She was hiding. Waiting for someone to return. There was an attack. She was injured. The last warrior standing threw a grenade. She was thrown into the chamber and sealed herself in by accident.”
Satine’s silence was sharp and hollow.
“She knew me,” Obi-Wan added, softer now. “Even after two decades… she remembered. I knew her, Duchess. You know I did.”
Cody folded his arms behind his back. “She asked about you. And Bo-Katan. Knew the sigil on her armor. She wasn’t faking anything.”
Kenobi nodded. “She said he saved her. Sheltered her. They… were close.”
Satine’s jaw twitched, but she said nothing.
Almec’s voice took on a cautious edge. “If the people hear she’s returned, they’ll question everything. Her claim to the throne predates your own, Duchess. They’ll stir. She might even attract support from the old warrior clans.”
“She was gone,” Satine said, voice sharp. “For twenty years.”
“She didn’t leave,” Obi-Wan replied. “She was left behind.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
“She is my sister,” Satine said finally. “Whatever happened between us… I will speak to her.”
Almec looked deeply displeased. “Duchess—”
“I will come to Resolute alone,” she interrupted, her tone final. “Notify me when I may board.”
The transmission ended.
Cody was the first to speak.
“Do you think she’ll come angry?”
Obi-Wan looked toward the medbay doors. His gaze lingered.
“I think she’ll come afraid,” he said quietly. “She’s ruled a world that forgot its past. And now its past has come back… wearing beskar.”
It has come to my attention that a lot of the posts on here about Mandalorians are missing a lot of context? Now, there is admittedly not as much canon information about them as I would like, but I would love to talk to some like minded people about the culture.
Jaster Mereel for one seems completely underrated as a character on here. People seem to boil him down to *Let me into the Jedi Archives!!!* It was funny, the first few times i saw it, but that's all people really seem to talk about with him. Jaster is a history buff, sure, but this man literally got kicked out of what amounts to the police for exposing corruption (in a very Mando way). He drifts as a bounty hunter, researching his fragmented culture before posting a codex for other mandos on a good way to reconcile the traditions of the past with modern morality and somehow becomes a galactic leader from what amounts to a forum post.
He adopts a kid who's family got killed practically in front of him and gets killed a few years later when his second in command betrays and kills him.
This is epic stuff and noone really talks about it outside of the niche fanfics I've found (usually mando-obi fics). Please I need to know more people think about this stuff.
Besties who kick ass together stay together, am I right!
This is the first time I've forced myself to design tsarikas shoto saber, and I'm actually kinda proud of it. It's certainly a statement piece, but honestly, she is a walking statement, and I love her for it.
Also, @riipcste is to blame for Ylyvas fit giving 60s bathroom reno realness, but it works for her.
Edit: happy pride to the lesbians and their strait besties who get mistaken for lovers.
