Anyone who thinks that a flawed 14-year-old is the true villain of a show, while the conniving adult who manipulated said 14-year-old into making difficult decisions, is complex and well-meaning--
Verin flashed a brilliant smile at the blonde across from him. He’d seen her request a room, heard that she was in port while her cargo hauler was unloaded. For the last three hours he’s learned everything he could fit into his few brain cells about hyperdrives and their intricacies.
Just when it looked like Verin might have scored a meal and room for the night, movement drew his attention to the bar. The entire pub was a hive of motion thanks to the live band and the end of a long work week. But, Verin knew that figure, and that she wasn’t supposed to be here.
Verin kept one ear on his mark’s excited chattering while his eyes tracked the lean figure in unmarked beskar. Fynta angled towards the bar, which Verin didn’t find troubling until he realized who stood there.
”Fierfek.” Verin’s muttered curse didn’t seem to faze his dining partner. Nor did the haste with which he slid from the barstool. Bodies crowded closer, making it more difficult to reach Fynta before she screwed up his plan for the evening.
The man Fynta set her sights on was a stranger to Verin, but his armour wasn’t. The white skull surrounded by flame. That Verin knew; so did Fynta.
Verin almost called out to his sister, but she was helmeted and wouldn't hear him over the dim of the cantina. Verin’s was still sitting on the table with the blonde, abandoned in his haste to stop his sister from being an shabbing dikut. They were going to have a long conversation about this once he got his hands on her.
That conversation was going to have to wait…
Time slowed as Fynta siddled up to the man, the crowd seemingly parting for her while they hindered Verin. The man’s laughter settled into a chuckle as he turned towards Fynta. Verin’s mind supplied the sort of razor sharp details brought on by trapped adrenaline: human, blue eyes, grey streaked hair and beard, laugh lines around the man’s eyes and the leathery texture of his skin that hinted at a lot of time in the sun. Then, it all went red.
The man had barely gotten the traditional greeting past his lips before Fynta’s knife skewered his throat. He wasn’t a tall man, and Fynta’s aim was true. Those icy eyes widened, one hand reaching for his throat while the other shoved her away. Verin followed the arc of ruby droplets that slung from Fynta’s blade as she stumbled back. Verin registered abject pride that she’d kept her hold.
The two men with Fynta’s kill crowded their comrade and he vanished into the press of panicking patrons. Verin managed to reach his sister just as the tide of patrons swelled towards the door. He snagged the back of Fynta’s armour and let the momentum carry them towards the door. Fynta didn’t fight, which led Verin to hope that when the authorities viewed the footage, they would see clan violence and nothing more. This would be handled internally, not their problem.
The blonde had vacated their table, but Verin’s helmet still sat there unpilfered. He snagged it as the mod carried them past then emptied into the streets. There were fewer screams than Verin expected, as if the crowd realized half way through their stampede that this didn't involve them. People dispersed with quick steps in different directions, but there was no running or calling for security.
Verin dragged Fynta by her chest plate own the street as discreetly as possible without releasing his hold. When they reached the relative safety of an alley six blocks away, he slammed her against the wall with one hand while unlatching her helmet with the other. It clattered to the ground alongside his, and Verin snarled in his little sister’s face. “That was a ures‘mird .”
Fynta’s expression was so cold that Verin felt a pang of fear. He shoved it down and forced heat into his glare. She was almost as tall as him now, skinny from lack of food, but muscled like everyone in their family had been. He saw no remorse, no thrill, those deep blue eyes that they shared were dead.
Slowly, Fynta removed Verin’s hand from her armour. “So was attacking our clan.”
Verin stepped back, his brows pulling together as Fynta followed him. “They thought they were untouchable. I want them to know they aren’t. That some of those who survived still remember the old way.”
Finally, her lip curled as she raked Verin with a glare that brought life back into her eyes. “Like you used to.”
That accusation ignited Verin’s temper and he shoved her back into the wall, beskar sparking where it struck the duracrete. “I’m trying to keep us alive, you ungrateful adiik.” When her eyes narrowed, Verin straightened. He saw the hunger in her again, the predator caged behind the guise of survival. This ill would never be enough for his little sister. There was too much mando’karla in her.
”Fine,” Verin acquiesced. He’d been playing it safe, keeping them under the radar and alive until something better came along. Clearly, that wasn’t what Fynta wanted. He’d do anything to keep that dead look from her eyes.
Verin let his lips pull back into a feral grin. “You want to hunt ,little wolf? Let’s hunt.”
”Good work, Bruun.” Master Deynn walked the line of prisoners, five in total knelt before their conquerors, red faced in the presence of justice.
They had come in as a team of three, Caldus, Khitt, and Kadu. Caldus had been chosen to lead given his years studying the Mandalorian scourge on their galaxy. This was a good take. This crew had been tormenting merchants in the surrounding shipping lanes. Caldus had received a tip that a target of high value would be passing through, and the trap had been set.
Master Deynn had waited on the ship, ready to provide back up but testing the leadership and teamwork of his students. It hadn’t been needed. Caldus beat back the swell of pride in his chest. Now was not the time for empty gloating. He’d done his job.
Caldus almost flinched when Khit slapped a webbed hand onto his shoulder. “You did it, brother.” With a squeeze, the Nautolan turned back to their prisoners and forced two of them towards the ship by the leads attached to their shock cuffs. Kadu did the same, offering only a quiet nod of approval. His captives stood without complaint, blank expressions just shy of serene. That left the big one for Caldus.
”On your feet.” Caldus was a large man thanks to his birthright. But this grizzled Mandalorian made him look average. He squared his stance and met the man's hard glare “I’ll not ask again.”
”I’m comfortable,” the old man said. He was bald with an impressive beard that had long since gone grey. Scars marked most of his visible skin, and there was a paleness to his left eye that gave the impression of blindness. He sure as shit didn’t shoot like he was blind.
Sighing, Caldus reached for the man. Perhaps it was because the Mandalorian was in his sixties that Caldus didn’t anticipate the attack. He should have known better. All of his research over the last three years pointed to the fact that an old Mando was a dangerous Mando.
One second the prisoner sat on the ground, cuffed and ornery. In the next, pain splintered behind Caldu’s eyes. Blinking away the tears, Caldus reached for his weapon only to find it missing.
The hum of a lightsaber filled the room, then the clatter of cuffs hitting the floor. Caldus’ stomach followed suit. “This is neat,” the man said, whirling it around in a sickening display of skill. He flashed a gap-toothed grin. “I think I’ll add it to my collection.”
”I think not.” Caldus was not that scared boy in the temple anymore. He would not be duped by another of these vermin. Squeezing his hand, Caldus fell back on training older than the Jedi Order. Of his master in the dark days of rage and death.
The lightsaber clattered at the man’s feet while he clawed at his throat, eyes bulging with fury instead of fear. “How…” the Mandalorian croaked.
Caldus stepped closer to look his prisoner in the eyes. “You are too dangerous to face a jury.” This man would escape again, and his next victim might be a guard. Their death would be on Caldus for leaving such a highly trained criminal in their care when they were not prepared.
The man managed a wheezing laugh through the phantom grip on his throat. “You can’t—“ A crack echoed through the bay, tightening into a ball in the pit of Caldus’s stomach. He made himself watch the life leave the man’s eyes; made himself watch as they rolled back and his body hung limp with toes barely touching the floor.
Caldus released the neutralized threat and stepped back. A strange numbness filled him, pushing back the horror that he knew would come. He sensed a presence at his back but couldn’t muster the energy to turn.
“You did what you must.” Master Deynn spoke softly, making the moment feel almost reverent. It was a vulgar enough thought to shake Caldus from his daze. He faced his master and found serenity on the striped features. “Go calm yourself, then meet me in my quarters once we’ve entered hyperspace.”
Caldus nodded, heavy legs carrying him to his room aboard the ship. There was a small fresher, so he splashed water on his face and avoided the mirror. He’d done wrong, and Deynn had every right to punish him. He’d called upon the Dark Side of his powers. Over the years he had suppressed them, but they were always there with the siren song of an easy victory. He’d given in today. That couldn’t happen again.
The next hour felt no different to Caldus. He sat on his bed, meditating in an attempt to bring himself back into balance. He’d only partially succeeded when the intercom in his room popped to alert him of an imminent message. “Bruun, please report to the commander's quarters.”
”On my way,” Caldus replied. This would be the moment when Master Deynn tired of his failures and tossed him from the Vanguard Program. Caldus wasn’t sure he could master the politics of the Order Proper. How they maneuvered with words instead of weapons. Perhaps he would wash out altogether.
By the time Caldus arrived, he’d concocted an impromptu defense and come up with nearly a dozen promises to earn another chance. The door opened before he could knock, so Caldus stepped into the room to face an uncertain future.
”Please, sit,” Master Deynn gestured at the empty chair across the desk. Caldus obeyed, eyeing the bronze chest plate laid out between them. “Do you know what this is?”
”The armour the Mandalorian chief wore.” Beskar, they called it. Nearly impenetrable even by a lightsaber. A Mandalorian's armour was sacred and an expression of the individual. It was as good as a thumb print for those who knew what to look for.
Master Deynn nodded. “We don’t tell boys what it takes to be admitted as a soldier of the Vanguard because the trial of passage is different for each.” Caldus pulled his eyes from the armour to the Cathar who had trained him since he was eleven years old. The old man was the closest thing to a father that he could remember.
“We fight a dirty war,” Deynn continued, “One that requires sacrifices of us that taint our souls. But, it is all for the greater good. For the protection of the Republic. Do you understand?”
Caldus nodded, paused, then shook his head. A pleased smile pulled at his master’s lips, exposing the yellowed fangs beneath. “Why did you kill this man?”
”He’d already taken me by surprise and escaped his restraints,” Caldus answered. “And I’ve studied their tactics for years. All I could think of is the harm he could do once he was in a prison with an untrained guard.”
”Exactly.” Master Deynn slammed his hand on the desk with enough force to make Caldus jump. “You corrupted yourself to save those who would be harmed. That is the kind of sacrifice the Vanguard requires of its soldiers.” Caldus started to speak, then snapped his mouth shut. He wasn’t being evicted.
Master Deynn gestured at the chestplate. “We have a tradition in our ranks. Wealth means nothing to us, we live for the people, no profit. However, you are allowed to keep one item of value from your trial. Only one.” The old Cathar trailed off, leaving Caldus to infer the rest.
”The armour,” he said without hesitation. Caldus placed his hand on the cool metal and scratched his claws across it. “I will meet my foe on an even battlefield.”
