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Chapter Text

Din trusted Boba. He was a benevolent leader after all. It was everything that Din respected: honorable, true to his word, and merciful.

Something however stunk in the daimyo’s palace as bitter as the stench of blood and rotting flesh.

The first time he met Luke Skywalker was by Boba’s word. He spoke of someone in his service, indebted to him, someone loyal to him, and he walked the halls of the palace. Then Boba leaned in close, a chuckle in his throat and promised that if Din needed him, the boy would be loyal to him too.

In the moment Din paused, contemplating the proposition and imagining all sorts of possibilities. He imagined a humanoid dressed in something scantily clad running their hands along Din’s breastplate. They were touching him, touching his things, pawing at the tip of his helmet. They would be disappointed, he thought.

Behind his helmet, he grimaced and curtly declined.

Then he met the man in the flesh and Luke was nothing at all what he imagined. He was slight in a pressed black suit, posture poised, well-mannered enough that Din shook his hand.

“Luke Skywalker,” he said with a smile. A smile that seemed to glint. A pretty smile. The kind of perfect smile that made his hair stand on the back of his neck. Din looked to Boba who stood over him like he was showing off a prized lothcat and Din knew something hid behind those shining teeth.

He watched Luke with a careful gaze.

The man moved like the wind on the dusty sands of Tatooine. There was an air in his step like he walked without touching the ground at all. He would peer around a corner with no indication he was coming. He would hover behind Din, patiently waiting to be acknowledged than alerting him to his presence. As if silence were a card he intended to keep.

Din had followed him down a hall once. If Luke knew that Din had been following him he wouldn’t have shown that he knew. He turned one corner, then the next, and he disappeared into the shadows of an unlit hallway. Even a scampering sand beetle gave no indication that anyone had passed.

Curiously, Din was quite uncertain of how Luke had come into Boba’s care. Din had asked once and Boba was vague. A favor to an old friend, he said. And that was that.

He mentioned it to Fennec who had told him that the kid had come with the place and offered no other insight to placate his worries.

He had brought up the boy to Krrasantan who knew nothing of the situation only that he was warned to steer clear of him.

Din had even approached Drash who looked at him curiously, before realization clouded her features. “Never heard of him before,” she replied almost too quickly and sped off into the desert.

He had even asked Luke himself but the man simply smiled and replied, “I just needed a roof over my head and a warm meal.”

More curiously, however, was the fact that Din never saw Luke eat.

Most curiously, was the fact that Luke was watching him too. Din met Luke’s gaze from the corner of his vizor and the boy looked at him with a type of hunger. As if the boy knew that Din had been staring at him despite his helmet hiding his true intentions.

More than that, he noticed that the boy was watching everyone. Like his eyes were etched into the sandstone walls following anyone who came and went. He watched at the very edge of the daimyo’s throne room, the comings and goings, as if counting every time someone laughed, measuring their offerings, estimating how much tihaar had been spilled onto the floor.

Din could guess that he was listening too. Listening to the flirty exchange between he rodinian and the twi’lek. Listening to the pyke who had the just lost a game of sabacc. Listening to a mod bartering for better parts, better prices, or an in with the next pod race.

Din picked up on one such conversation, a conversation that made him lean in, his feet faltering, listening to a human mercenary that had been slighted in a deal with Boba. Din had slipped out for some air, the party was making him cranky, the warm air making his head spin, and in the silent, cool air he overheard a conversation in the hallway. The mercenary drunkenly slurred his contempt to someone on a comm.

He listened to the stranger mutter in a rage, “5,000 credits. I’m out 5,000 kriffin’ credits because of a technicality. Bring them in warm. He was still twitching when I brought ‘em in! That’s warm enough! He’ll get what’s coming to him though. His life or 5,000 pfassking credits!”

In the shadows Din turned on his heel to head back to the throne room except he was met with the shining face of the boy.

Smiling, always smiling, a smile with perhaps too many teeth, “Lost, are you?”

He didn’t need to lie. He wasn’t lying, “I uh was looking for the ‘fresher.” Din replied and the boy nodded making no effort to hide his disbelief. Din guessed he should tell Luke about the conversation, alert his friend to the threat waiting for him, but he remained quiet, a part of him already knowing that the situation would handle itself.

“Uh-huh. Well, be sure to mind yourself on the way back.” The statement sounded like a warning that sent his skin crawling. Din nodded and quickly hurried back down the hallway. He took one last glance behind him and the boy was already walking away from him. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, a distortion of his eyesight, but he could be certain that the shadows seemed to move around him.

It was not until much later that Din realized the stranger had never returned to the party. Not until he was awoken in the middle of the night cycle to the sounds of howling. It was easy enough to mistake it for the wind calling outside and the rumble of sand hitting the sandstone fortress. But Din had seen enough violence to know the familiar, discordant bellows of terror.

Din should have recognized what was going on sooner. As Din’s eyes shot open, that feeling trickled down his spine again. The clear anxiety that he felt that he was being watched. Now that he had seen it once, it was hard to ignore that the shadows of the daimyo’s palace were moving.

That Din was lying in the gaping, dark, slithering maw of the daimyo’s palace.

As the darkness peered back at his startled expression, Din weighed his choices; go back to sleep or investigate. The wind howled outside and the cries echoed off of the empty halls of the palace. He quickly pulled himself out of bed and scrambled for his armor. At first he chose the latter. Then as he sealed his helmet, he opted to throw out everything completely and chose the third option – leave.

Din tried to creep through the shadows. He was pleased that he had made it through the hallways without incident, without alarming anyone, even as he arrived closer to the exit. With each step however he drew closer to the throne room, the exit just lying past it, and Din could not ignore the fact that the noise was not the howling wind, it was sand beating on the roof, it was not the screech or howl of an animal, but very clearly the terrified screams of someone.

He quickly slipped past the hallway that connected itself to the throne room and hurried towards the exit. Fear alighted his pace, his heart pounded in his chest, and Din did not want to admit that his limbs were shaking. He could see his salvation, the great doors to the foyer except in the center sat a small form, the boy.

He stood idly wrapped up in a cloak as if he were waiting for Din.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked innocently. There was about twenty feet of space between them. He could force his way through if he needed to. He had several inches of height on him and was what, 150 pounds? Din’s fingertips twitched ready to engage.
“Yes, there’s some business I need to attend to,” Din replied politely.

The man in front of him sighed, “In such a hurry though? Boba won’t be pleased if you left now. He thinks highly of you, you know?”

“I uh—”

“Come,” Din was certain there was twenty feet between them and then suddenly none as the man wrapped his arm around Din and coaxed him back towards the throne room, “He’s still awake. Why don’t you say your goodbye’s and then you can go.”

Din’s fingers twitched towards his blaster and found that he couldn’t urge his fingers to move. His feet moving of their own accord. Panic sunk into his chest and Din struggled against the man’s grip but he was securely fastened around him and only smiled up at Din. Vaguely, Din was aware of something dripping at his feet, something warm and steady that had been running along the mysterious man’s cloak, percolating into a steady drip.

He looked down to see the man’s hands gripped around him. Din noticed his hands were stained something dark and sticky in the lowlight, leaving dirty handprints on Din’s pauldron, sullying the embossed mudhorn.

He did not know what awaited him in the throne room. He did not know what to expect. The screams had died down now into a gurgling moan and periodic weeping. Upon entering Din was thrown to the ground, he landed atop the grate. His arm slipped through one of the bars and Din cursed, before he realized he wasn’t slipping any further and adjusted himself to balance atop the grate.

As the initial panic abated, he realized he was looking at something. He did not immediately see a body but recognized blood and leftover bone, the tang of decay suffused his senses, and Din reeled from the sight of viscera.

He looked up to see Boba splayed atop his throne. He sat lazily sipping a blue concoction and stared down at Din. The boy sidled up to the edge of the throne and in the light Din confirmed what he had suspected. Blood and chunks of something dirtied his clothes, the remnants of gore messily sponged away but still staining the man’s hands and cloak. Luke leaned against Boba’s shoulder making a mess of Boba’s green armor and the daimyo did not seem to mind. “It seems I haven’t been completely truthful with you, dear friend. You have questions I’m sure.”

Din looked between Boba and the man that was perched happily at Boba’s side, “What the hell is going on here?!”

Boba gestured to Din, “You see that pit below your feet? There’s a reason it’s empty right now.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

Perhaps it was the drink but Boba laughed. A hearty bellow that made his face pink and the man beside joined in with him. They were taunting him, teasing him, and as if Boba could sense his friend seething underneath his helmet, he reigned in his laughter and raised a placating hand, “Easy there, friend. I think that you do.”

Boba gestured to the boy beside him and brought up a hand to caress his chin as if he were indeed an obedient loth cat, “Its monster is right here. But not to worry, in exchange for your loyalty I promised it in return, did I not?”

For a moment Din was uncertain to whom Boba promised what. After all, by the way Luke smiled at him, an expression that held too many teeth and eyes that watched too much, a presence that lurked in every edge of the daimyo’s castle, Din wondered who he was truly loyal to at the end of it all.

Chapter Text

Din had a dream. It was always a dream, at least, he thought so. He was certain of it. This was a dream and soon he would wake. He just had to endure this a little longer, a little more, and soon the daybreak would shine on him and he would be rousted.

The dream was long. Sleep had started deep, dark, and quiet. Sleep had taken him easily. He was not quite sure what he had been doing before then. He recalled yelling and loud noises. He recalled that he meant to rest his eyes for just a moment before everything slipped into the dark. For a while his limbs remembered what time felt like, his circadian rhythm clicking, in and out between the dense sort of sleep that weighs on all the limbs to the idle sleep that flirts with the edge of consciousness.

Din cycled through them all, feeling his limbs twitch, overhearing voices but never quite reaching the surface of wakefulness. He felt his body cycle through the night well past the time his limbs were itching to get up, and soon the dreams had started and these sensations did not seem to matter.

Suddenly he was sat at a table, it seemed to always start at a table, his son munching away at his breakfast and he excitedly giggled. He had laughed. They laughed together.

His son had thrown his hands up in delight, a squeal that warmed Din’s soul. His son reached for him, trapped in his highchair as he whined for Din to pick him up. In the child’s urgency, he had knocked a plate from the table, it shattered. Din stared at it, a million pieces looking back at him. The plate was clean, shiny, he expected to see his reflection but was only met with the murky uncertainty in the beyond.

Distantly, his son began to cry. As if it were some great chore, Din tore his attention away from the plate, distantly he realized that he had picked him up and began shushing him. His eyes were still transfixed however on the shattered plate that shone no reflection.

His son cried louder. His face was red, eyes muddled with tears, and he cried for hours so much that the noise rang in his ears, in his head, the noise creeping into every sense and overwhelming him. His head started to throb, it was like a kettle boiling over. Too much to focus on. Din blinked and continued to hum and rock his son. He blinked, once then twice, and was met with a deafening silence and a seemingly endless void.

Ah yes, the dream. This was a dream, he told himself.

From then, he dreamed of a multitude of things. Memories that replayed themselves over and over again. Ghosts of the past that seemed to pace back and forth in his mind. They formed a line to greet him, hashing out old debts, requests, and regrets. People he had never known he had faulted. People he had seen in passing that seemed to hold something against him regardless of what he said. Back and forth, and nothing Din did would assuage or placate their grievances.

There were dreams of nonsense, jumbled and blurred shapes, and conversations that never occurred. Dreams of the absurb; a woman asking for payment in nothing but one hundred, no, one thousand, no, one million meiloorun fruits. Din could not find a single one.

“I promise I’ll come back,” he begged and she could not be satisfied.

“Hypocrite.”

“Backstabber.”

“Dishonest.”

“Unreliable,” the shopkeeper would screech while Din begged he would return. He wandered the plane searching for a tree that only bled into darkness. He could never find a single meiloorun in the end.

Then there was the dream of the stranger. Another nonsense dream, Din concluded. He dreamed of the man that never introduced himself. Din had met him on an empty highway, he had forgotten what he was looking for and kept wandering down the aimless path. He could have easily passed him over, the shadowy figure hovering in the darkness.

“Are you lost?” a man’s voice called out to him.

Din stared at him blankly, never having heard such a question in this dream. The man however did not wait for Din to ruminate on it for long. The stranger took his hand and they continued to walk. Din let the stranger pull on him and guide him through the darkness.

“Are you lost?” Din asked in turn.

Din could not see his face in the dark, but the man hummed, “No, I think I’m exactly where I need to be.” Ahead of them Din could make out a single light approaching them that began to highlight his features. The man wore a long dark cloak and Din could see the barest hint of golden hair framing his face like a halo. Din wracked his brain trying to remember if he had met someone like this. Trying to think of what he might ask of him.

“Who are you?” Din asked. The man stopped until they stood underneath the lonesome lamp on the unlit highway, a clear radius shielding them from the dark. Din could see him clearly illuminated by the light. He turned to Din and was met with brilliant blue eyes hidden away behind a mask.

“I am no one you have ever met, Din Djarin,” he responded. “I am a witch and it was very nice to meet you.” Then the witch let go of his hand, turned, and disappeared into the dark.

From then, the witch had appeared in other sequences. His son was crying again and there was another broken dish on the floor. He paced the room shushing him and behind him the stranger would appear and sweep up the broken pieces of the plate.

Another time he bartered with the woman asking for meiloorun. The witch spat wildly at her, his face red as he argued, and bartered his way down from one million to ten thousand to just two meiloorun fruits. And though he had yet to find any meiloorun, it seemed like an accomplishment.

Then there was the line of lost spirits. Din wondered if he had faulted the stranger anyway. That Din would find him standing, waiting for his moment to bring up a list of reservations and their dalliances. He was in the middle of placating his brother that no he had not abandoned, no he had not held a grudge, yes, that they would meet soon. And the stranger appeared coming up behind him placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re fine,” he whispered into Din’s ear. “You’ve kept your promises.”

Din wanted to turn and protest. He wanted to reiterate all of the qualms posed against him but felt frozen in place. Anger simmered in his throat, his face turned ruddy with frustration. The hand moved to his back, “Let it go.”

Din leaned into the suggestion and stepped away from his brother, the man had stopped speaking to him as he moved away. He stepped further away until he could no longer see the faces that brought him grief and it was like tension snapping in his skull.

Din pivoted to meet the stranger behind him but found that he was already gone. He always seemed to leave before Din could thank him.

Since then the dreams shifted and one time he awoke in a bed. At first relief washed over him that he was finally awake but then he realized that he did not recognize this place. The sheets were unfamiliar on his skin, and he rolled to his side to find the stranger lying next to him. His presence shocked him and he gasped.

“How did you get in here?” Din asked, and the stranger turned to him. He expected to be met with blue eyes and blonde hair but instead he wore a mask. The mask was a ghastly, a bright red covered his face and something like veins ran through it. The outline of a human heart sat in the middle of his face overlain with a film like skin. Din saw it clearly pulse, the steady beat of a heart.

The man did not deign to answer and instead climbed on top of him. The stranger’s hips straddling his own.

Distantly, Din registered that he was hard against him but that did not discourage him from asking another question, “Who are you?”

“Not who you think,” the stranger replied and grabbed Din’s hands placing them on his chest. Din had realized he had never seen him naked, never really seen anyone naked like this before, and saved this information for later.

In another dream, he realized that he was sitting at a table overlain with a single light. Cards and coins were scattered on the table and the stranger sat across from him. This time he wore a yellow mask lined with gold and jewels making circular patterns that took the place of his eyes, mouth, and nose.

Din felt compelled to tear his eyes away and look down to his own hands, a winning play, and Din tossed several more coins into the pot.

Din showed him his hand first. The stranger laid down his cards and Din realized that the stranger was missing a hand.

“I win,” the stranger proudly declared. He was still looking at the disembodied limb that he did not realize the stranger’s losing hand.

The card table bled into a dinner table, the coins and cards boring holes through the wood as if it were absorbing it. Trays and plates of food were placed onto the table with a heavy thunk by some ephemeral server. Din looked up to find that the man had changed masks. This time he was wearing an orange mask and this time his eyes were two hungry mouths agape. Its teeth clattered, chomping at the air, and its tongues licked the rim of his sockets. In the center where the stranger’s mouth would be, he smiled and licked his lips.

The stranger this time didn’t look up and was focused intently on his meal. Plates were piled high around them. Din did not have a meal in front of him but a simple mug. The sensation was warm, comforting, and for some reason he felt content to sit there in silence while he watched the stranger in front of him devour another plate.

After a few moments, the stranger finally looked up, “Are you going to finish that?”

Din released the cup, “No, no, I’m full.”

Without any additional warning the stranger grabbed the cup, “Good because hot cocoa is my favorite.” Din said nothing except held onto this information, feeling like it was important.

Din had met the stranger with a blue mask who did not seem very different from the rest except his features seemed exaggerated, his cheeks shined, his mouth scowling, and nose turned upward as if he were wearing a plastic caricature.

The stranger had challenged him to a fight. He was an excellent fighter except he never won. When Din was certain that he would lose from a blow that was too quick, too sharp, the stranger stumbled, and Din took advantage of that fact. The stranger would yield, pick himself back up, and they would go again.

After what seemed like a hundred rounds, Din felt like he knew every pattern in the book. Din expected him to stumble and withhold himself from victory, that Din didn’t brace himself for a blow that had him on his back. The stranger stood victoriously above him, “1 to 0, we’ll call that even!”

Then there was the stranger with the green mask whose face was permanently etched into a frown. The stranger did nothing but wrap his arms around Din tightly, begging, pleading for him not to go. “You’re mine, you know that?” The stranger insisted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Din reassured but the stranger seemed to think otherwise.

“Please don’t go. I can’t let anyone have you except for me,” And Din would sigh rubbing a gentle palm over his hand.

Except Din finally left his grasp despite all the kicking, crying, and screaming that went along with it. And he walked down an aimless path of darkness before coming to a gate where the stranger with the purple mask sat lounging on a nonexistent ground.

He did not pay Din any mind as he passed by. He only sat whistling a tune and as Din passed through a great arch the stranger looked up and said, “Go easy on him, he likes you very much.” Din nodded and the stranger went back to whistling.

And that’s when he came to the stranger with a black mask, wearing a terrifying face. He stood stock still in the middle of the darkened plane. Slowly, Din became aware that he was weeping, a wretched sound. It pained him almost in the same way his son would cry. It pained him in the same way he was asked for things he could never procure.

Din froze, uncertain of what to do. Then he recalled the stranger picking up the pieces, taking his hand, speaking reason in a whole flurry of nonsense in his head.

Kindness.

He crossed the space between them and placed a hand on the small of his back. The stranger turned sharply towards him and wrenched himself away from Din. The figure collapsed to his knees and his hands were held up in surrender as he continued to weep. The shadows had also begun to move and grow, swirling in the corners of his eyes, and suddenly Din felt very small.

He felt pain. Guilt, remorse, regret, all piled on top of each other, and it all seemed to strike Din through his heart. The stranger continued to weep and Din realized these emotions were not his own. It was like the stranger’s own line of broken hearts, deceit, selfishness, hubris, passivity, and shards of broken relationships had congregated to meet the stranger in the hall of judgement.

Voices and faces filtered through his mind and wandered around them in ephemeral shapes. Faces he had not known. Things he had never experienced.

He saw the smile of a brown-haired woman, the frown of a worn man, the laugh of a man with a mustache as bushy as his own, the anger of an unkempt man, and the rage of a disfigured entity. They all collided in on one another into a distorted face staring down at them. Din shook in fear as the effigy loomed above him.

He steeled himself however and ignored the effigy’s imposing gaze. Din took a step towards the stranger and recoiled when his weeping only worsened. He took a second step, more determined than the last, just enough so that he could reach forward and grab the stranger’s hand and asked, “Are you lost?” then everything froze, silence enveloping the both of them like a sigh of relief, like the tension snapping, like the breathy depression of something evaporating.

And one moment from the next, the stranger dissipated, and Din was met with a twinkling light. His body felt stiff, his throat was parched, his head ached, and as his vision focused itself, Din was met with the face of the witch, his blue eyes and blonde hair. His face was splotchy, the remnants of tears at the edge of his eyes. Din reached up to brush them away and he realized that the stranger was very close to his face.

His breath was warm against Din’s lips, so warm that Din knew this was not a dream.

“It worked,” the man gasped and then smiled, a brilliant smile that Din could not help but match, “It worked!”

Chapter Text

“We’re evacuating now,” Din watched as someone had whispered to the Cabur through the door, “I’ll return when we’ve entered hyperspace. Everyone should get some rest now…we don’t know what’s ahead.”

The Mandalorian with orange armor nodded, the disembodied voice slipped away, and he turned to Din and the rest of the children. Din sat with the other foundlings that had taken refuge under a blanket. Huddled together seemed like a fortress in itself, sharing warmth, sharing comfort. The ship rattled, the lights briefly flickered, someone started crying, and everyone braced themselves for something worse that never came.

The old Mandalorian put his hands on his hips and sighed.

“Have you ever heard of the three gods of Mandalore?” They all watched the older Mandalorian with intrigue as he walked around the room.

His definitive steps rang against the transparisteel-grated floor and suddenly in a single, swift movement, he pulled a blanket from off a nearby bed. The whipping fabric caused the children to jump. From underneath the bed he rummaged around and dragged his spoils to the middle of the room.

First, he hung the blanket into a haphazard curtain. Then behind the curtain, the Mandalorian adjusted a lamp and cast strange shadows on the ceiling and walls. A puppet appeared silhouetted into the curtain. It hopped back and forth until the Mandalorian wove his hands into creatures, the mythosaur, the shriek-hawk, the vhe’viin, and the puppet waved its arms and scurried away.

The children giggled and then the Mandalorian held up another warrior, the puppet carried a great axe and frowned intensely. The puppet’s armor was bold and spikes jutted from the puppet’s pauldrons and hands. “First there was Kad Ha’rangir, the god of conquest,” he explained. “Kad Ha’rangir was a great hunter. They say Kad Ha’rangir was so powerful that they could simply jump from one moon to the next.”

The figure swooped throughout the makeshift stage as if flying from planet to planet until it settled into the corner.

“Then there was Arasuum,” a second figure took place by the first. This one’s vizor had been more neutral and dressed in a cloak whose beads swung and shone in the light. “The god of bounty. They say Arasuum bled gold and honey making the lands of Mandalore so lush that you didn’t have to go far for food. You could just reach over and grab a handful of fruit!”

The image of Arasuum floated up to the old Mandalorian as if offering something to him. He pretended to take the imaginary offering and place it into his mouth. “Oh, why thank you great Arasuum for this gift,” the Mandalorian bowed his head, and the image nodded settling back down next to Kad Ha’rangir.

“You see, adike,” the Mandalorian continued, “there was a time that Kad Ha’rangir and Arasuum worked together and brought greatness to Mandalore.

“They worked together in harmony, victory and bounty sharing the glory of their conquests abroad and at home. Together they brought many years of peace to Mandalore. Kad Ha’rangir could travel far and wide to find the best bounties to bring home to Mandalore while Arasuum took it and multiplied it. Seeds and animals all flourished on Mandalore. But this is a story about three gods and the final god was Hod Ha’ran.”

A new figure appeared similar to the last two gods. This figure carried an axe and wore a simpler but ornate cloak. “The god of trickery,” The Mandalorian exclaimed. “And Hod Ha’ran enjoyed the company of Kad Ha’rangir and Arasuum. Sometimes Hod Ha’ran would accompany Kad Ha’rangir on their journeys to strange worlds. Other times Hod Ha’ran would stay with Arasuum and watch as the vormurs would bloom into brilliant fields of white and pinks and blues. And for a long time Hod Ha’ran was content with enjoying the simpler pleasures of life but over time the god became quite bored of it all.

“Leaving and staying became a routine and in boredom, Hod Ha’ran became something else, the god of chaos. It started small at first, perhaps the vormurs would not bloom as brilliantly as they did in the last year, or a warrior would get lost on their journey home, but then the rain would miss a full season, or the sky would pummel rocks and destroy a whole fleet of ships and warriors.

“And Hod Ha’ran was not content to just leave it that. One day the chaos god had an idea while Kad Ha’rangir was away. Together Arasuum and Hod Ha’ran worked on the latest harvest under the hot Mandalorian sun. When Hod Ha’ran approached Arassum and asked, ‘Arasuum aren’t you ever tired of doing this all day?’

“The old god thought long and hard, ‘I promised Kad Ha’rangir I would take care of the people while they were away.’

“‘But you do so much already. Surely you could take a break? No one is here but us and Kad Ha’rangir would never know.’ Hod Ha’ran insisted while the old god thought long and hard until Arasuum nodded. Together they sat underneath under the great Veshok tree while they watched the reeds grow and grow until they overran the planet. The crops grew, the seasons turned, and they wilted with no one to pick up the seeds or harvest their fruit. And Arasuum received a new name by the people, the sloth god.

“It was not until they saw Kad Ha’rangir returning in the distance that they began tilling the earth. But this was not enough for Hod Ha’ran. On Kad Ha’rangir’s next trip, Hod Ha’ran accompanied the god. Their latest conquest brought back stones and rare ores. The best ones the old god could find.

“And Hod Ha’ran approached them, ‘Kad Ha’rangir, is this enough to bring glory to Mandalore?’

“Kad Ha’rangir huffed and disagreed, ‘I promised Arasuum I would bring back only what is best for Mandalore.’

“‘But what if we brought the greatness of Mandalore to the rest of the galaxy.’ Hod Ha’ran suggested and the old god huffed thinking for a long time. Finally, Kad Ha’rangir nodded and together they conquered the nearby sector of Ojoster and Demestras until it was time to return home with nothing in hand except their pride. And Kad Ha’rangir received a new name by the people, the god of war.

“When Hod Ha’ran and Kad Ha’rangir returned to Mandalore, they found the planet in complete disarray. They searched the entire planet finding wilted crops and hungry people and Kad Ha’rangir grew angry. They found Arasuum sitting once again underneath Veshok tree watching the seasons go by.

“‘Arasuum what have you done!’

“The sloth god was surprised not expecting Kad Ha’rangir to return so soon. The sloth god tried to explain that they sat down just for a moment and then the god asked, ‘Kad Ha’rangir, where is your bounty?’

“The god of war tried to explain that they had brought the riches of pride and glory back to Mandalore. And Arasuum became angry.

“A great argument between the two gods began and soon they began fighting while Hod Ha’ran watched. Mandalore attracted enemies, its lands began to dry up, the people became restless, and soon everyone was fighting with each other.”

The children sat entranced by the moving shadows until a small voice piped up, “And then what! Do they figure Hod Ha’ran out?”

The old Mandalorian chuckled, “Well, you see—" Suddenly a door slid open and the Mandalorian turned his head to find the stern helmet of the Armorer. Din gasped and some of the other children hid underneath the covers.

“Adike, you’re supposed to be resting,” her voice was stern and the younger foundlings scattered like skittermice to a light. Din along with the older kids began to groan in defiance and her voice turned softer, “Come on. It’s late. Say goodnight to Cabur.” She turned sharply to the older Mandalorian, “Once you’re done here, come up to the bridge.

Din reluctantly rolled off the bed to go back to his own bunk while the old Mandalorian rose and tore down the curtain and Din walked up to his side, “Cabur? Do you think Kad Ha’rangir and Arasuum are going to get along again?”

The old Mandalorian looked down at him and placed a hand on his head. He tilted his head as if contemplating his answer, “One can only hope, adi’ka.”

As time went the gods became just that, a hope. All too often hopes seemed like stories, memories, lost to the present and destruction that followed Mandalore. The planet had been glassed, deemed unfit for civilization, the mines destroyed, the great mythosaur was no more, and its people were scattered like the seedlings of a Galek tree.

But Arasuum and Kad Ha’rangir were not ones to let go so easily, not of grudges, not of their greatness, not of their silent belief they could mend what had been torn apart. Even as they were lost to the annuls of time, even if their withered beings were encrusted in ash on Mandalore they waited for someone to pick them up and blow away the dust off their effigies. They waited in the final sanctuary of the planet, deep below the ground, hidden away from napalm and the radioactive rays of the Mandalorian sun. They waited across from each other not daring to speak a single word to one another, for fear it would only lead to more destruction.

Din had only come to Mandalore for one thing, his own selfish reason. The gods stirred as a ship touched down on their land. Then startled awake as the ground shook with an explosion, the mountain of rubble blown away. They watched him curiously as he shone a light and climbed through the rocks. And then waited for him as he crossed the threshold of their final shrine.

They whispered to each other, their voices talking over each other, piling on top of one another, and whispering through Din’s ears all at once.

“The child recites the Resol’nare.”

“Yes and he wears armor from the earth of Mandalore.”

“And he carries a Jedi’s sword, a noble cause.”

“A child that has brought together enemies before.”

“Do you see me as your enemy?”

“For now but not for long.”

Din was wading in the water, his head bent before the gods, offering himself. Perhaps it was a selfish deed, his own redemption, but it was foolish of him to think that the gods were not selfish themselves. And even more foolish of him to think that he could pay the price of the gods. Redemption did not come cheaply. Arasuum and Kad Ha’rangir looked at him hungrily, encircled him in even steps, evaluating their offering.

Kad Ha’rangir looked to meet Arasuum’s gaze, who nodded.

“He should be fit for the task.”

“He will bring us together.”

Hod Ha’ran was not one to stick around. Hod Ha’ran spent their time in casinos, in the pachinko machines, in deals gone wrong, in tabloids full of mishaps and embarassments, in once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, in strokes of good and bad fortune. The god was uttered in the calculations of protocol droids and navcomputers. The mandalorians no longer needed war except their lives could not warrant rest, so people prayed for good fortune that Hod Ha'ran was dubious to give.

Hod Ha’ran existed in the sleight of hand, the underdogs, and the lucky breaks. So when Hod Ha’ran came across a one-in-a-million shot, the tide-turner, arguably the greatest prank they’ve managed to pull off, they could not help but stick around to see when that luck ended. Hod Ha’ran was beginning to tire of Luke Skywalker as he settled into a mundane life, on a quiet planet, with no amount of trickery to keep the god satisfied.

That is until Hod Ha’ran watched Luke Skywalker come across Din Djarin.

The scales of fate had began ticking the minute they met, calculating with an immeasurate kind of speed, weighing their choices, their desires, the odds of them meeting again were not great. Hod Ha’ran simply laughed and thought it was the perfect amount of chance.

So they met again. It had been so easy, a single distraction that relinquished them from the bindings of fate for them to meet a second time. The odds were better the third time, the fourth time and Hod Ha’ran grew bored. It was not until the fifth time that Din Djarin had shown up at Luke Skywalker’s door that the god was interested in the man himself.

Hod Ha’ran cursed themselves that they did not see the odds before. The Mandalorian with pure beskar’gam, the Mandalorian with the jedi’s sword, but not a Mandalorian by blood. The disgraced Mandalorian. It should have been no surprise that the Mandalorian would bring Hod Ha’ran’s two dearest friends to the jedi’s door.

The odds of Hod Ha’ran finding their two friends exactly how they had left them, arguing, were inevitable. It was unfortunate that Din Djarin had been caught in the middle of it. That Din Djarin had somehow bound himself to the two gods’ desires. But Din Djarin had somehow showed up at the foot of Luke Skywalker’s door as if knowing where Hod Ha’ran had been hiding.

“Kad Ha’rangir,” they said sweetly.

“Arasuum,” they said dearly.

The voice of Hod Ha’ran rang like a bell as if awakening the spirits of the old temple. The two gods sat in stasis. Two even forces leaning on each other but nevertheless the wind always blew, the tide shifted, and Hod Ha’ran was harkening at their feet.

The two old gods were insistent that they would settle their scores once and for all. Their fight had gone on for too many centuries. One would win out this time. But such luck, such fortune, such perfect circumstances never escaped the clutches of Hod Ha’ran.

In one way they could agree, the two old gods forced Hod Ha’ran out. The trickster god only said their names louder and this time with reinforcements. Their spines straightened, no their vessel’s spine straightened tensing underneath the weight of Hod Ha’ran.

Hod Ha’ran had taken a vessel of their own. It had been so easy once the jedi had fallen asleep. Fortune had always been served and eaten up that taking him was like wearing a well-tailored suit. Hod Ha’ran hoped that he would not mind especially after all the cold compresses against Din’s head, all of the times he made sure the man would eat, all of the late nights studying to rid Din of this strange ailment. Hod Ha’ran supposed the Jedi would not mind if he did his own meddling.

The god was straddling them now, pinning them under a gentle touch that they could not escape. Their vessel was too weak, too distraught, too destroyed by their endless arguing for them to put up a fight against Hod Ha’ran’s clutches.

The trickster god, no the Jedi, said their names quietly this time. His voice was a gentle touch neither of the gods had experienced in centuries. A plea, a prayer, a simple ask for them to complete and the two gods greedily drank the intent.

“You are hurting this man, dear friends.” Hod Ha’ran spoke to them and then their voice turned rotten, wilting like a changing season, “Can’t even set aside your differences for the sake of a single Mandalorian!”

The man below Hod Ha’ran wailed in rage, synapses snapping like hammers as the man attempted to buck the god from off of him. They were unwilling to admit that the god was correct. Hod Ha’ran held the body still and the two gods melt in his touch like metal in a forge their rage melting into cool grief.

Perhaps Hod Ha’ran could admit that it was partially their fault. Perhaps they were over their head. No amount of human calculations could have anticipated the destruction. No amount of odds could see it ending up like this. Perhaps it was the only trick that Hod Ha’ran could regret despite their friends sharing their bounties, their trust, their love. The chaos god’s tone turned softer.

“Let him go, my dears,” Hod Ha’ran pleaded. There were no tricks in his voice, no mirth to share, no need to read between the lines. The two gods were reluctant to admit defeat.

“Let him go,” the Jedi repeated as if it was a threat. They can’t afford another mortal to forsake them. They can’t afford to be forgotten again and lost to the sands of time. A long moment passed. The man below Hod Ha’ran relaxed, muscles easing as the man drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Hod Ha’ran leaned down again to kiss him on the cheek whispering with an adoration they were not certain was his own, “Thank you, ner cyar’ike.”

Perhaps it was time for all three of them to come together again.

Chapter Text

There was something crawling underneath Luke’s skin.

It was an itch of some sort. The day before the full moon, Luke lied on his bed his skin sticking to the sheets as his body convulsed with sharp desire. Despite the cool air, the light burned his skin like a white-hot blade. As he peered up at the sky, he was certain that the moon was not truly full. His body knew different.

The moon stared down at him, his eyes wide with wonder but the moon’s effect was certainly not enough.

As daybreak came, the dregs of adrenaline seeped through his body back into the shadows of the night, leaving only an air of anticipation for the coming dusk. The birds began to chirp and there was much to do. Too much to do and the only thing Luke wanted to do was to sleep and wait.

Luke closed his eyes for just a moment and recalled the start of all this.

Luke had grown with the forest, time slipping like stars rotating on the wide expanse of sky. His earliest memories were of smoke and ash and leaves caressing his skin. Through the years, the soil, the trees, the mycelia all kept him alive and eventually the forest had told him its secrets.

It told him what it had learned through thousands of years, a million connections of lifeforms, and well-kept secrets hidden underneath the groundcover. In exchange Luke had become duty bound to the forest, its ward, its beast. And the forest kept him close, paid him for his service, his protection until duty came to ask for more.

Every moon his so-called duty beckoned him to become one with the forest. It sang to him like a siren’s call. The forest running through his veins, the forest requesting in the kindest way to become its dutiful keeper.

And every moon Luke would answer its call and become its beast. He would lean into the feeling, the hunger that would envelop his stomach, his gut, his being, and as the moon rose it would gnaw at it his throat in a long-repressed scream. And Luke would stumble out of the alcove he called home to run among the creatures of the forest. For one night, he allowed himself to be subject to the whims of the forest as he was always meant to.

There were others that came to the forest looking through its secrets, pleading for some kind of resolution to their problems, and often it would cast away these pests before showing what it had to give. More unfortunate seekers would face Luke and that’s how he met him, another ward of the forest. Another beast.

He did not start that way however, the human came looking for Luke. They called him things, The Werefolk, the Shriek, and sometimes names he did not deserve, the Deity, the forest god themself. But regardless of what they did call him, the man pointed a bow to Luke’s head. They stared each other down, Luke’s expression hard, challenging the man to do his worst, but just as suddenly as he appeared in front of Luke, he tucked his weapon away and fled.

The second time Luke met him, he was not alone, surrounded, outnumbered, and surely Luke thought that this was the end. Luke closed his eyes and hung his head low to accept his fate. The twang of a bow, he winced, a shout, he looked up to find the man standing in front of him. His arms were spread protectively around him but he was soon falling backwards and Luke rose up to catch him.

An arrow protruded from his chest and his breathing shallow, and gingerly Luke placed him onto the floor. Luke looked past him to survey his assailant. There were four in total, frozen in complete disbelief, Luke would not waste the sacrifice and called upon his power.

It was not until the sun was setting that Luke managed to drag the man to the river.

“Please, save him,” Luke pleaded to the beyond.

“We do not help outsiders,” it answered back.

“Please help him. I’m begging you.” The forest did not answer.

Perhaps it did not have to. Instead the still-water nudged Din’s limp body forward, submerging him, suffocating him, squeezing what humanity was left in him until the man gasped and thrashed in the water. When he rose his wounds were healed. Instead of panic, instead of coughing, Din gained his balance his hands running over his chest and arms, and most poignantly the man looked at Luke with hungry eyes.

Perhaps Luke already knew that the price of saving his life was his burden too.

Luke did not expect the burning in his lungs. He did not expect the moonlight to seize him so suddenly. The beast in front of him snarled and charged towards him, and Luke was certain that they would tear each other apart. He did not expect that the intent was more carnal in nature.

And every month the night before the full moon, Luke knew that the beast would be coming for him.

Despite his own thrumming in his veins, Luke forced his body to rise. He tidied his home, he fastened down what was important, and every hour that passed by from dawn to noon to the encroaching dusk weighed on Luke’s chest. Energy buzzed through his fingertips, electricity bristled the tips of his neck hair, and as the sun began to set his sense of time fell with it.

The weight of the curse weighed heavily on his limbs. The sensation was a slog that gripped him like vines, like murky water, like the sudden depression of a storm drowning every sense. He stared into the distance, the glowing sunset suddenly magnificent and in the next moment gone in a blink; abandoned in the blue, enveloping evening. His senses blurred together into an amalgamation of colors and scents and sensations.

The colors in his eyesight begin to run, orange leaves then a deep purple sunset then the blue of night and darkness and black and red. The sounds would begin to distort, a burbling stew, a creaking door, crunching leaves, panting, growling, and grunting.

The smells would begin to file in, one sharper than the next, taking a life of its own, stronger, attune, an apparition of a being inside his home. The bitter smell of gun oil and metal, the clinical smell of washed sheets, the delectable scent of food and comfort, and the irresistible scent of home. Then his true intention of the night, the sweet and smoky scent of the being clawing at his door.

His scent swirled around his home beckoning him to answer and Luke’s limbs would move of their own accord towards the door. It was a scent whose stale remnants that Luke would throw his face into and relish. But at its peak, Luke was helpless.

He would hold him off for as long as he could. His rational senses despairingly clinging to controlling the sensation before even those devices would abate and he would be left with the beast that was tucked away in his mind and the other behind the door. The beast that wanted, the beast that needed, yearned, could not help himself more happily to the other that accompanied him.

And touch. Touch that had once been so muted and dulled, reignited, stitched and running together across his face, his chest, his thighs, and finally in between his legs. Of course, in between his legs like he so acutely needed.

He whined in words unknown to him and the beast above him would happily oblige in frantic thrusts into his hole.

‘Not enough’, he would say in too few words. ‘More’, he would gesture. ‘Please’, he would motion. ‘Yes, right there’, he would plead with tears at the very edge of his eyes. And as they both desperately chased something, something that scratched that itch. And Luke would beg to do it all over again.

As night fell, memories became images swept away like leaves in a river. Luke however always remembered the hunger within him. He always remembered the brief feeling of relief washing over him before desperation would seize his gut, and he would clamber towards the other. He remembered the echo of grunts in his ear, uncertain if they were coming from himself or the other, or the both of them in a cacophony of pleasure.

In a moment of lucidity, when the birds began to chirp, the barest hints of daylight alighting his room, he remembered saying a name, Din. The syllable like as harmonious as rain pattering against his door. He remembered the scratch of a beard against his back and something sweet being muttered into his ear. The words delirious and meaning everything to Luke and at the same time nothing at all.

Then Din would cant his hips, punting the breath from Luke’s chest, and the memory would run down the river with the rest.

And like a blink, like a fitting puzzle piece back in its slot, like a clock striking midnight, Luke would piece back together his senses. First with hearing and the birds heralding early morning. Then with sight to an empty bed. Then with scent that seemed dull and uninteresting. And finally, the piteous crater of loneliness that sat in the middle of his chest.

And as Luke picked himself out of his bed. The same electricity lost from the day prior replaced by the need to distract himself, Luke would clean the remnants of the night. He would start with the stains in his bedsheets. Then place salve on the marks on his body. And slowly Luke would find pieces of the beast scattered around his home.

First it had been an offering tucked safely away in his fridge. Then a bouquet of wilted and frayed roses. Sometimes it was a note, or a coin left behind in haste. More emboldened offerings had been a pair of underwear still drenched in heady scent that would send Luke running back to his bed to enjoy. But today it was a glove.

Luke held it to his face and inhaled. He imagined a hand cradling his face, touching him, holding him as he desperately tried to recall hands running over his body, stroking his cock, or marring his skin as evidenced by the bruises on his hip.

He sighed against the glove moving it from his cheek to his mouth and imagined himself gently kissing a hand. As if to offer his own parting gift, at least for this moon.

Chapter Text

Everyone loved the school’s headmaster, Luke Skywalker. The headmaster was charming. He could walk into a tavern and command a whole room, all eyes on him by way of a story, a magic trick, or just his general air.

Even when Luke had moved in just a few months ago, he had become the talk of the town attracting both good and bad attention. Some say that handsome Antilles bachelor had been caught leaning against Luke’s open window trying to steal a kiss. Others might tell you about that the stubborn redhead Mara had blushed after Luke had left a kiss on her palm. More bold rumors say that the wealthy Calrissian businessman had declared his interest spectacularly and publicly. And some might say even his sister’s fiancé had said something sly to say to him before being promptly smacked.

Yes, Luke Skywalker was the talk of the town and everyone loved him.

Much in the same way that everyone knew that Sleepy Hollow was not haunted. Just ask anyone on the street except maybe the headmaster, Luke Skywalker. First, he would talk you around in circles. Feign disinterest or stupidity, but deep down Luke Skywalker was wary to admit that, yes, there were ghosts that haunted all of the cracks and corners of Sleepy Hollow.

As he walked into town he had seen something peering just above the tips of the canopy looking up into the night sky. Something tall, you could mistake it for a tree in the dark, but Luke saw its rounded head, two straight limbs sticking out like a deer, like branches. It had caught Luke looking at it and two red eyes flashed at him before Luke made a run for it. Nothing, thankfully followed him.

The discovery had invigorated him, satisfied a morbid curiosity of what was lurking out in the darkness. But Luke could not ignore the chill that crept down his spine.

Strange things appeared in other ways, Luke had noticed. One morning he had taken a walk, his gaze watching the pebbles and colored leaves dotting the road. Fall had come in one fell-swoop blanketing the valley in a wondrous wildfire of orange and red leaves. He had noticed the tell-tale Y-shaped prints of birds, the round shape of a rabbit or groundhog, but then even steps of boots that disappeared into nothing.

Other things Luke noticed on a quiet morning staring into the tall rows of corn and wheat. The wind blew making the field shudder and in between the stalks Luke could see the barest hints of red and purple, the tips of the plants swayed as if someone were running through the field. The movement disappeared into the trees and a part of Luke knew better than to investigate.

Then finally, during the harvest festival in a sea of so much noise, children laughing, raucous excitement, applause, and hidden away in all the commotion something sweet. A lovely song that pulled on Luke’s ears as if the song itself were a temptation. But Luke looked around unable to find its source. Later he had found one of his students standing alone, blindly wandering down an alleyway. Panic filled his chest and he quickly grabbed the child by the arm ushering them back to the festival. He noticed the singing in his ears had stopped by then.

Luke could not say he was a superstitious man but every so often he could not help but feel something had found him.

Fall had quickly turned from this luminous period of bright color, celebration, and cozy nights to a dour sky plagued by heavy blankets of clouds.

For the last fortnight, almost like clockwork, the wind rapped on the door of Luke’s home. It rocked the whole building, the old wood creaking, the beams shuddering as the great wind passed through. In times like these Luke would settle deep into his duvet and wait out the storm. But everything seemed to be in motion and sleep seemed so far away now.

He lit a candle, a steady light in the chaos outside. Luke stood stock still at his desk watching the flame dance. Occasionally the flame faltered, threatening to wane as if someone had stalked past it too quickly and the movement had disturbed its form. But no one was here except for Luke.

The wind groaned outside, the light dimmed, and Luke could not help but feel his heart drop, anticipating the darkness as if the steady flame was the only thing protecting him from the discord waiting for him. To take his mind off the of the weather, Luke began to write. Anything and everything, letters to his mother, letters to his friends, people he had not spoken to in years and never intended to speak to again, writing in his book, his theory, and documenting his travels. He wrote fervently as if it would save him from this desperate feeling.

And sometime past midnight, like clockwork, the wind would pick up, moan as if in pain. As if the psychopomp flew across the sky and had come to collect his debt. He imagined a great procession behind him, the tortured souls that had finally found peace. The potter’s field was not too far from here and Luke hoped that they could not bother the living now.

But tonight, as if one soul that had been left behind, he could have sworn he heard, “Help me!”

Luke looked up and turned towards the window. He strained his ears and was met with nothing. He stood still for a long moment.

He carefully scuttled towards the door and pulled back the curtain. He did not know what to expect: a lantern wandering in the night, a ghastly face to greet him, the psychopomp hovering over his doorstep. He was only met with his own reflection however and the deep, endless, dark night.

Despite seeing only himself, watching himself in the reflection disturbed him. Shadows cast over his cheeks making him look gaunt, his eyes seemed dark, two black orbs staring back at him instead of his bright eyes. The light flickered again and shadows danced behind him, framing his face with eerie shapes.

Luke let out a shaky sight in what he hoped was relief and closed the curtain. Perhaps it was a trick of the ears. The stress of the day still ringing in his mind and belied by the storm. Luke eased into this suggestion. He hid behind it, wanted to believe it, and turned back to writing. He ignored how his hands shook and gripped his pen tighter.

In a rare moment the wind eased, a single second of near deafening silence and Luke could not deny when a howl ran through his ears, “Help me! Please!” This time Luke stood, his chair scraping harshly across the floor and the storm outside raged to meet his determination, his candor, like the wind was challenging Luke to come outside. Inviting him perhaps?

Before he could change his mind, Luke shrugged on his boots and coat and lit a lantern. And before he could second guess what he was doing, he threw the door open. Thick droplets of rain splattered on his face and leaves scurried into his home as if to hide from the onslaught of the storm.

Luke could not see anything but a few feet in front of him.

“Hello?” he called out into the dark.

He was only a visitor on these premises, temporary until he found his bearings in Sleepy Hollow. The rest of the homes were darkened with sleep and as if he were the greatest disturbance he tiptoed around the property. Nothing seemed to be amiss than the furniture that had been knocked around by the wind. There were no signs of animals or footprints in the mud. He walked down the path towards the border of the property, past the orchard and pasture to a ravine that outlined the property’s border. The brook had turned into a gushing stream overnight slicing through the earth with a certain type of ferocity.

“Hello!” he yelled.

“Help me!” a voice replied, clearly this time and Luke determined it was a man. Luke turned on his heel towards the source. The voice pleaded from the other side of the property and Luke followed the ravine past the soggy pastures to the bridge that connected the land to a scraggly set of trees. As Luke moved along the stream it had grown wider and wider, a vicious river that roared in his ears far louder than the storm.

His clothes felt thick with rain and sullied by mud and grass. A chill was starting to settle into his bones and he pulled his coat tighter. The lantern though safe for now, burned low and the flame fluctuated wildly. As he moved the shadows danced in unfamiliar shapes, as if ghouls and wraiths were scrabbling at Luke’s sleeves.

Finally, Luke came to the bridge. The river had risen so high that it was almost lapping at the slats.

When he had moved in, he was told to never go past the bridge and to take the path to the north if he wanted to cross the ravine. At the time the request made sense. But as Luke drew closer he became aware of the silhouette of a man. He seemed slouched, his steps were uneven, unpaced as if he were searching for something.

“Hello! Sir? Are you alright?” Luke called out to him from across the bridge.

“Help me! Please. I can’t find him! I can’t find him!”

“Sir! You shouldn’t be out here in the storm! Who are you looking for?”

“My son!” The man sobbed with a desperate crack in his voice.

Luke’s nerves had calmed down. Fear had leaked from his veins and he stood confidently to help. Perhaps that was his first mistake. Perhaps he should have wondered if there was a face peering at him just above the tress. Perhaps he should have wondered if this person knew a tempting song. Perhaps he should have noticed that these trees were the same ones he saw things disappear into. Perhaps he should question whether his muddy footsteps would disappear into nothing.

None of it seemed to matter when Luke thought he could help.

He walked towards him, taking his first step across the bridge, “Your son? Come here! Walk towards the light.”

The man did as he told and turned towards Luke. The light reached just across the bridge illuminating the man a little bit better. The lantern swung, the man’s shadow sweeping into the trees. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. Perhaps the man had his coat over his head to cover his head. Perhaps it was too many hours awake, or the man was simply mistaken and held a child in his arms.

But Luke knew Sleepy Hollow was haunted.

Luke knew that strange things happened in Sleepy Hollow.

But everyone loved Luke Skywalker. He was the talk of the town, attracting both good and bad attention, and even the creatures of the night.

And Luke was certain that what the man was not holding a child but the severed head of a wailing, sobbing man.

Luke felt his heart jump with shock, a scream just on the very tip of his tongue. First he became aware of the man’s neck where the top of a spine jutted out from a stump. What he guessed was blood, stained his neck and shoulders but almost seemed like they were burns that cauterized the cut through his neck. Then he noticed the head that did not seem to mind the separation. Luke did not have time to think about his shock for very long.

As he took his second step across the bridge, he heard a sickening crack, and his footing gave way. The lantern flew out of his hand and Luke gasped, scrabbling for purchase but his body was quickly slipping through the rotting wooden slats. The last thing that Luke registered was his body crashing into the water followed by another weight following him along with it.

Past that Luke was met with the deep rush of darkness.

Chapter Text

Finn and Rey were the first to arrive to their normal meeting point; the mailbox at the three points of their homes.

Then came Rose, who gleefully ran up to them with a sleeping bag in her arms.

And always the fashionably late, Poe rode up on his bike with his backpack hitched over his shoulder.

“Excited for tonight?” Poe asked.

“Yeah! Can’t wait. We’re going to stay up late and play video games. And Grogu said their Dad was going to make cookies.”

Rose jumped up and down, “Wait, guys, look what I got! I grabbed it from my sister’s room.” She put down her things to hurriedly look through her bag before procuring a DVD set.

Rey gasped, “Isn’t that movie rated-R?”

“Yeah! But we got to watch a scary movie. Come on it’ll be fun. I’ve seen it before and I’ll let you know when you should cover your eyes,” Rose assured Rey didn’t seem convinced.

Finn stepped in, “Hey, we’ll see. I’m sure we will have plenty to do tonight.” Rose bundled up her things again and the gang set off.

For the first time ever, they had all been invited to stay the night at Grogu’s house. They had all been talking about it for weeks. When Grogu excitedly told them that his parents had said yes. To deciding the day, to making a list of things they were going to do, to the days leading up to it and the day was finally here!

More than that, however, the gang was curious about their short friend, Grogu. Grogu was a quiet child, not that any of them minded. In fact, it was how they became friends. Poe and Grogu had met first being some of the only kids at school that regularly used sign language. Then Poe, who had such a knack for bringing people together, dragged the shy boy to meet his other friends and the rest was history.

The curious part of Grogu was no one seemed to know much about him. He was open to telling people anything and everything from his favorite games, his favorite shows, his favorite school subjects, but not much was known about Grogu’s parents. They had never seen someone pick him up or drop him off. They had seen people, Aunts and Uncles, but never the parents themselves. But Grogu didn’t seem to mind their absence, in fact, he insisted the opposite, that they were there in some form.

Rey knew that Grogu and Ben Solo were cousins but neither of them had a family resemblance. And it wasn’t like any of them were going to go out of their way to talk to Ben Solo anyway.

Speak of the devil, the teenager rode up beside them on his bike, “What’s up Stupid Squad?” And there was a collective groan among them.

“Shut up, Ben!” Rey immediately shot back at him.

The boy did not seem phased by this, “Where are you headed? You babies having a sleepover?”

Finn was next to pipe up, “Like you’ve ever been invited to a sleepover!”

“I’ve been to a sleepover!” Ben argued.

“Yeah? Whose house!” Rose chimed in.

The boy huffed and stuck his nose up, ignoring Rose’s challenge. “I’ve been to plenty of sleepovers! Who would want you babies at their house anyway?”

“Your cousin!” Rey confirmed and Ben hit the breaks on his bike as if afraid to go any further. The whole group turned to stare at him.

His face suddenly looked pale and he looked at them wide-eyed, “You’re going to his house? And staying the night?” Ben asked.

“Yeah, jealous?” Rey replied triumphantly as she watched Ben Solo squirm. The boy shook his head and started shrinking back on his bike.

“Nope. Good luck!” Then as quick as he appeared, Ben Solo pedaled away on his bike in the opposite direction.

“Well that was weird,” Poe stated as a matter-of-fact.

The weirdness did not put a damper on the crew’s mood and soon they returned to creating an itemized schedule for tonight’s events. The weirdness returned when they arrived to the house.

“Are you sure we have the right address?” Poe asked. The house in question was at the end of a street surrounded by two empty lots. The weeds were overgrown and yellowing with the changing season making the house seem older and darker than it was. The building itself was hulking, massive, an oddly shaped house that looked unlike the neat, standard, stucco houses that they had passed on their way here.

More ominously, hung just above the door was a skull that looked vaguely like a rhino’s head with one hulking tusk that jutted out. The skull stared down at them as if judging any trespassers.

“Nose goes for whoever knocks on the door,” Poe quickly said and touched his nose. Everyone followed suit until the last kid touched their nose.

“Why do I always have to go for nose goes!” Finn complained but despite his complaints, his friends were cheering him on as he made his way to the front door. They stood huddled behind him while Finn knocked three times on the door. The skull hovering just above them.

Behind the door was a heavy bang and it slowly creaked open. Finn’s heart pounded but was immediately met with relief to see their friend, Grogu. It was almost comical how small he was in comparison to the great door, and for a moment Finn wondered how he must have opened the heavy door by himself.

Grogu jumped up and down, the two flaps of his green hoodie waving in excitement. He gestured for them to come inside. If the outside of the house was strange, the inside of the house eerie. It was dark with only several lights in the foyer and hallway ahead of them. In the foyer was another animal skull this time something that looked like a boar’s head staring down at them. In fact there were several animal skulls that looked towards the door with voidless eyes.

Hanging on the walls was also a collection of weapons, spears, swords, ornate knives that were high enough to be just out of reach. Poe turned around and gasped, seeing two figures on either side of the door but then realized they were two full sets of armor, knights that had their shields ready.

The décor was unnerving, menacing, everywhere. The group scanned the room taking it all in. Then their eyes all settled back to Grogu who was smiling at them still bouncing up and down with excitement. He seemed completely unphased by the décor and brought up his hands.

‘What do you want to do first?’

It turns out that Finn had been thinking about this all week. During lunch he had been caught frantically writing something, shielding it from prying eyes, but Finn revealed it now. “Grogu’s Super Awesome Sleepover Bash!!” the page had read and below that it seemed that Finn had it all planned out. The first thing on tonight’s agenda was making a pillow fort which everyone agreed that seemed like an excellent idea.

Grogu led them down the hallway to the parlor and Rey asked, “Hey, are your parents home?”

Grogu nodded and explained that, yes, his Dad was home and might say hi later, and Papa should be home soon. Rey seemed a little relieved at that.

Slowly but surely their worries melted away as they got settled. They made quick work of their pillow fort as if they were all expert architects. Grogu had procured several blankets and string, Poe had dragged over several chairs, Rose had taken the cushions from the couch, and soon they were all settled in their castle.

“Can we play video games next?” Poe asked and Grogu nodded showing them his collection of games. All of a sudden he turned his head to the other room.

‘Dad is calling me. Start without me.’ Then Grogu scampered off, distantly the group heard the boy stamping up the stairs.

Once he had left the room, Finn turned to Rose, “Did you hear someone calling Grogu?” Rose shrugged and shook her head. They all continued to set up the video game and started the first round of a racing game, and then a second while they waited for Grogu to return.

Rose and Finn were cheering on Poe and Rey who were stuck neck-and-neck. The two had always been a little competitive with each other but most of all when it came to racing. The two had made the last bend, Rose and Finn’s shouting becoming frantic as they neared the finish line when suddenly the screen began to flicker. The game shuddered to static and the screen blinked to read, “Lost Connection”. It would have been disappointing if it weren’t for the fact all of the lights began to flicker, threatening to shut off completely.

Then everything illuminated, even the lights that they had not turned on. The silence was so deafening that one could hear the electricity buzzing through the bulbs. In fact it was almost like the lights were buzzing louder than usual, the pitch careening higher. Poe held his ear in irritation and adjusted the switch behind his ear.

The buzzing continued a strange energy thrummed through the room in anticipation. Behind them a spark snapped, then another, then a plume of flames materialized into a column of fire that consumed the entire fireplace.

Someone screamed, someone yelled, but then the fire disappeared as if snapping shut, and their game began to play the home screen music. Emerging from the flames was a shadow, faint enough to miss it, but clearly something dark was slinking along the wall. It was about as tall as a person and paid no attention to the children.

Each child sat frozen with terror as the shadow disappeared into the adjacent room. The lights dimmed, the buzzing disappeared, and everyone looked at each other trying to piece together what had just happened. Beside them was another loud thunk. Someone screamed, someone yelled, and they all turned to see Grogu dropping a pile of board games onto the floor.

‘Papa is home and he is going to make us cookies,’ he signed with a delighted expression.

“T-the fireplace,” Finn started.

“It blew up!” Rose emphasized.

‘It does that sometimes. Don’t worry about it.’ Grogu simply replied and plopped down on the floor to start the video game. He waved the second controller to Finn who lost only because he kept glancing back towards the fireplace.

After some time, Rey asked Grogu where the bathroom was and he pointed down the hallway.

Still spooked by the fireplace Rey asked, “Rose, can you come with me?”

Rose nodded and followed her to the bathroom. She waited outside for Rey. In the hallway it seemed quiet, too quiet despite the distant noise of the boys playing video games just in one room over. From here however she heard heavy footfalls just above her head, something walking on the second floor. Rose guessed it was Grogu’s dad wandering upstairs but then the steps climbed its way down the stairs spilling into the foyer.

Rose was curious to see what Grogu’s dad looked like. She craned her neck to get a better view of the foyer but it seemed empty. From here she could only see an empty suit of armor. There was the one sat in its dutiful post by the door but then another suit that she had not seen before turned to its side profile. Then its helmet turned sharply towards her, she gasped, and the head snapped back. It took a step backward and footsteps headed back up the stairs.

At that, the door to the bathroom swung open and Rey looked at Rose with a look of concern. Rose was terrified, “The armor” she whispered as if not wanting the other suit to hear her, “The armor was moving!”

Rey frowned, skeptical at first but hoping that Rose was pulling some type of prank on her like she usually did. “Really?” she replied with a tone of doubt, “Why would someone wear armor inside a house? Why would someone wear armor at all?”

“That’s what I’m saying, it was one of the decorations. It was moving!” Rey looked down the hall to see the one suit of armor still solidly in place and she trudged down the hall with determination.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Rose cried and chased after her.

“Proving you wrong. There’s nothing down there.” And in too few steps they were in the foyer, everything exactly as it should be. Rose stuck her head out to leer around the corner and found it thankfully empty.

“Y-yeah. Probably nothing,” she confirmed. Satisfied, they both headed back to the parlor. With one last glance, Rose looked back to the foyer and she could not exactly remember if there were supposed to be one or two armored figures by the door.

“Rose, come on!” Rey interrupted and Rose hurried behind her.

The sun had started setting, the events from before long forgotten and the least of their worries in an endless game of Monopoly. A game that Grogu and Finn had been clearly cheating together but weren’t ones to admit their guilt. Lights were turned on, pizza was ordered, TV was being played, and still no one had seen or heard Grogu’s parents since arriving.

Poe groaned and threw the last of his money at Finn, “Ugh I’m bankrupt. You guys continue playing.”

For a while Poe was content to watch his friends haggle their way through real estate. In a few short moments Grogu and Finn had bankrupt Rose too, and now the two boys were furiously counting their bills to see who was winning.

Someone had confronted Finn and Grogu, and Rey and Finn were bickering now. Poe’s eyes flitted back and forth between them, losing track of the conversation. It was hard to focus when pizza was on the mind. Poe’s stomach had grumbled, and unfortunately 30-minutes seemed so far away.

Poe turned his attention away from the group. He announced he was going to the bathroom and Finn nodded at him in acknowledgement. As Poe left the parlor he could not help but notice the door adjacent to it that led to the kitchen.

His stomach grumbled again. Maybe a peak wouldn’t hurt.

As Poe drew closer, he became aware of a ringing in his ear again, less of an actual noise than a gentle nudge to the back of his head. It was as if it were humming, a low vibrato sensation of something enticing, peaceful, charming eliciting an emotion like the way his mother would carry him to bed or his dad would hoist him onto his shoulders.

Something sweet was emanating from the kitchen that made his mouth water. Flour, butter, sugar, chocolate, Poe smiled, they were those cookies Grogu mentioned.

His curiosity piqued and he was drawn to the kitchen. Light was emanating from the door and he pushed past it. What he did not expect however was to see the entire kitchen engulfed in flames. The raging inferno from before and standing in the middle was the darkened shape of a figure. It was like a sunspot with two white eyes staring back at him. The figure was holding something, something square in shape but Poe could not see it from where he was standing. The figure crept towards him slowly lurking across the fiery landscape.

Help, he told himself, he needed to cry for help. Something left his lips. The figure was upon him, staring down at him, and he covered his eyes. Then hands were on him, little hands, definitely human hands, and Poe cracked open an eye to see the worried faces of his friends instead of a shadowy figure.

He quickly looked around to find a completely normal kitchen. ‘Fire’, Poe frantically signed to Grogu, and Grogu shrugged and looked around.

‘No fire here,’ Grogu replied, ‘Oven and stove are off. But cookies are done.’

With that Grogu absconded a tray of cookies that had been left to cool on the counter and offered some to Poe. But Poe had already lost his appetite.

It did not return until the pizza had arrived and after a few slices of pizza and too much soda, Finn had finally convinced Poe to return to the cookies. With one bite Poe smiled and all the fear bled away into chocolate, buttery heaven.

The rest of the evening went on like that. Finn made a paper beard and pretended to be an old man. Rey told them a dirty joke that she had overheard. Poe showed everyone that he could hold a handstand the longest. And Grogu burped so loudly and suddenly it made all of them cry with laughter. They had tried to watch the horror movie Rose had confiscated from her sister but had shut it off within the first ten minutes since it was clear Rose had never seen the movie before.

Instead there were more games, more yelling, more laughing until they were all tucked in their sleeping bags whispering to each other, staring at each other, reluctant to let the perfect day go by. Then one by one they fell asleep leaving the lights on to protect them from the dark.

Sometime in the night Finn awoke to find the lights had been turned off. Two pairs of heavy footsteps wandered around their pillow fort. The sheets obscured their sources from his view and in the dark fear alighted in his chest.

He rolled over to see the rest of his friends blissfully asleep. There was something ominous to the twin presences outside of their sanctuary and a part of him felt like he shouldn’t peak. Instead he wiggled deeper into his sleeping bag.

“A shame we couldn’t introduce ourselves to them. They seem like sweet kids,” one voice said.

“He didn’t want us to embarrass him,” a deeper voice replied.

The other chuckled, “He is getting to that age, isn’t he” and there was a hum of confirmation.

Finn watched as the two pairs of shoes met at the entrance to the parlor. Once they were side-by-side one pair quickly bounced on its tiptoes and then back down.

Before they exited the room, Finn heard a sweet hum ring in his ears. His eyes were heavy, his thoughts slow, and soon he fell asleep with the rest.

Chapter Text

With his final breath, Vader gave him a word of warning, “My son, you know it in your heart to be true.”

His father was anything but correct. He knew what it was like to be a monster with something slithering inside his veins instead of blood pumping through him. It started the first time he tapped into the Force. Like a spot, a piece of mold, a fungus that spread and infected every cell. A benevolent cadence that served nothing but to help him.

The stronger he grew, the harder it became to ignore.

So as Vader’s lifeforce slipped into the Force and Luke let go of gloved hand he did not realize he was holding, something like a black tar that tickled at his fingertips and Luke wrenched himself away.

It was best to burn the body. Fire was cleansing. Surely it would cleanse the galaxy of whatever he was with certainty. Even as Luke dragged Vader’s corporeal form, he could feel his veins slithering for the first time, pushing against his skin, and threatening to tear through the skin. In the corner of his eye, he saw something slimy pass of his iris and slink back into the far corners of his eye.

Looking back, there was not much to recall after that except the hunger. The deep unquenchable hunger that saw raw and heavy in his gut. It was an emptiness that clawed that his nerves. An emptiness that hoarded every action and held hostage every sense. Things seemed to blur together after that.

The explosions, the raucous cheering, the music, the crackle of flames, they all ran together in a disorienting tapestry of muffled sensation. Distantly he became aware of his sister pulling at his wrists, he reached out to her with the Force and found nothing amiss. Not a hair out of place, not an emotion to be alarmed about, her heart pumped a steady rhythm of blood unlike his own pulse that churned like a grumbling stomach.

He felt relieved by this, the only one to carry this curse, but relief was only brief, and the gentle hum of her heartbeat did nothing but intensify the hunger in his gut. Luke licked his lips, reaching further, more lifeforms, more blood, more flesh, more bone, a cacophony of heartbeats rang in his ears.

He did not know when he had stopped dancing, when he was being ushered away by three ephmereal forms, when he had calibrated his hyperdrive, or when he had found himself here on Tatooine. As the sun razed his skin, he felt it was right, the heat would surely cleanse him of this. The monster would be baked out of his skin and slink into the granules of sand where monsters often belonged.

But relief never came for him. His skin cracked but never bled. The hunger had spread to every inch of his body, and then it had turned on him. The monster feasted on what little humanity he had left, what little blood and skin and bone he had left until he was just a shell barely containing the beast inside of him.

In the dusky gray of a Tatooine, the sand rustled and he was surrounded. But the monster had staged a protest, receded deep inside of him, and his withered form could not conjure the force or even a fight. His muscles could not even bear lifting himself from the sand and lied prone as they tied him against a bantha and dragged him through the sand.

The only solace however is that Luke could hear his captor’s heartbeat. The sound held him like a lullaby before everything went dark.

When Luke came to he found himself face-to-face with the slimy face of Bib Fortuna. He seemed to dance with glee when he was presented with none other than Luke Skywalker.

It was curious to find him wasting away in the dune sea, Fortuna thought. Something nagged in the back, Fortuna’s lizard brain reacting to the threat but it was quickly pushed aside with hubris and drink. Luke Skywalker, wanted, war criminal, murderer, and he was right in Fortuna’s hands. Fortuna wanted to gloat, he wanted to parade him around the desert like a warrior coming home, and most of all when he had finished his fun, he wanted Luke Skywalker dead.

“Put him in the pit,” he ordered, and Luke found the pit blessedly empty. The sand was cool against his skin. Tatooine was always so bright but here he could rest his eyes, his nerves, and if he focused just enough he could quell the steady rhythm of steps and veins.

Luke must have closed his eyes for a few moments, or a few hours, he was not sure. What he knew however is that the hunger in his bones had returned and that something was a striding towards, careening towards him like a loose speeder, or was that himself? It was too quick. Like a thread unraveling a ribbon. Like a tumbling skyscraper.

Something jabbed at his side. “Is he dead?” he heard echo through his ears.

“Can’t tell,” the person looming over him responded and jabbed him again. When Luke opened his eyes, time seemed to slow to a languid pace. Things moved in a stilted manner and Luke did not know when he had picked himself up just enough to lunge at his assailant's stomach. He did not realize he was scraping at his clothes, digging his fingers into the skin, into flesh, into entrails.

At some point there was a loud noise behind him and he shrieked an otherworldly noise. Despite the rainfall of blaster fire, Luke was not want to give up his prize and despite the gash in his corporeal form, he still managed to grab his prize by the leg and drag himself to safety.

The only thing he managed to really recall from the whole situation was the easing clarity. The hunger finally sated in his stomach. The fogginess in his mind cleared, his muscles felt revitalized, the gash at his shoulder did not seem to hurt so bad, and the taste of blood on his lips was better than any ambrosia. It was better than water under a Tatooine sun. It was better than a fruit in a concrete jungle. It was sweet, tangy, and filled his soul with relief.

The blaster fire had died down and Luke became aware of panicked shouting from above. Footsteps were coming for him but hesitated just outside of his cage.

Except when Luke opened his eyes, time seemed to slow. The hunger and bloodlust returned with a vengeance except this time he knew how it felt. The force consumed him, that sticky black substance permeating from every cell in his body. Luke’s form seemed to spread, infectious, his skin became the ground, his eyes became the walls, he dipped the whole of his cage into inky black.

A part of Luke saw it for what it was, a cage. The part of him saw it for what it needed to be, a home, and his next meal was standing in the middle of it.

Chapter Text

Luke stood up positioned over the fire. His shadow was split and backdropped against the trees. He crouched and wiggled his arms in a serpentine kind of way, like the slimy tendrils of a creature. “And there I was,” he declared, “being dragged through the trash and dark water. I couldn’t see anything. There was nothing but black and I could feel this slimy thing winding tighter and tighter around my limbs as it dragged me down faster and faster. I couldn’t breathe and my lungs were starting to burn as I screamed – nothing coming out.

“But just as my luck ran out, there was a huge rumble, something began to shift, and all of a sudden it let me go. When I rose to the surface, I opened my eyes and saw Leia. She was shaking me awake, but in that moment, I couldn’t be happier to see her. I was so relieved but the whole room was still rattling, and I found out that we had bigger problems to solve.”

Leia chimed in from beside Luke, “Yeah, the walls started closing in. We really would have been goners if it weren’t for Artoo.”

Han chuckled and added, “It was a garbage day, if you ask me.” Everyone seemed to groan at that.

Leia gave her husband a poke for his joke. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

It was a gloomy Ossus night. The kind where it only seemed fitting to start a fire and make a hot stew. Leia and Han were visiting Luke, and as they settled in for dinner the party started to swap stories. What started out as reminiscing quickly turned to some more bone-chilling tales as the sun set.

Han described sitting in the maw of an exogorth.

Leia recounted a ghost she had met in the Alderaanian forest.

Luke recounted his terrifying battle with a dianoga.

Grogu had chimed in to say he would defeat them all.

Which left Din, who had been stealing small sips of his stew for the last hour.

Han slid over to him and nudged his arm, “What about you, Mando? You were a bounty hunter, got any stories like that?”

Din cocked his head upward to wrack his brain. There were a lot of stories he could share. Some that didn’t feel right for this setting, things he was not proud of, and things he did not want to have the kid hearing. But then there were stories that Luke already knew like the siege of the Krayt dragon or his tales on Mandalore.

Han watched expectantly as Din rolled his shoulders and evened his gaze.

“I have one,” Din finally replied. “You ever hear of the Anaxes belt?”

“Anaxes?” Han scoffed in disbelief, “It’s a wasteland out there. Nothing but rocks and bandits.”

“So, you know you can’t go around and it’s too much of a mess to jump. The only way is through.”

The campfire fell silent, and everyone seemed to lean forward to hear more from the normally stoic Mandalorian.

Din explained that he had taken the route through the junkyard. It was easy enough to dodge and weave through the mess. He was an experienced pilot after all, and this should have been a cinch.

From a distance away the Anaxes field looked like a blanket of dust covering the black shine of space. It seemed eerie in how still and undisturbed the area seemed. It seemed daunting, teasing the best adrenaline junkies out there, but heralded a warning as masses of ships laid among the rocks. Compounded by the fact that the sheer mass of debris clouded any possibility of incoming or outgoing communication.

To fly through Anaxes was to fly dark and alone.

But as Han said, where there was trash, there were also bandits. As Din zipped through the field, he found that he was being pursued by two beat up ships flanking his left and right.

The moment he sensed a projectile on his scanners, Din took evasive action and began to weave in tighter turns around the floating heaps of rock and trash in the hopes he could lose them. But then they started to shoot at Din and he was quickly caught between the crossfire.

In one moment, he was swooping downward in vertigo-inducing drops and the next making a hairpin turn. Still the ships continued to pursue him. Din could feel the heat of blaster bolts hitting stray asteroids, the spray of rock clattering on the windows of his ship.

One stray bolt hit made the whole ship shudder and Din cursed. Electricity sprayed over the controls and his instruments went haywire. Din quickly reached over to manage the damage.

Panic began to overwhelm Din’s chest. He was flying completely blind with no scanners to help him through this mess.

One particularly large asteroid began to roll by, a cracked heap with an opening just large enough to fit his ship. It could be his chance to escape. A daring enough move that his pursuers wouldn’t even try. With as much accuracy as he could muster, Din slipped into the opening. Immediately he parked his ship on the nearest surface and disengaged his boosters hiding himself from detection. He heard one ship fly upward then two. The ships rushed away and for the moment Din thought he was safe inside.

Din’s relief was short lived as the Mandalorian tried to restart his ship. He tried once, the engine clicked before clunking to a stop. He tried again and the engine heaved but petered and sputtered out. He tried one more time, but the ignition didn’t even engage.

From the looks of it, his navigator was fried, his scanners haywire and reading wrong, and his shields barely functional. Din didn’t even want to look at his drives knowing that a few would be unsalvageable and that would be a pretty penny to fix later. What really worried him though were his boosters to get him off the ground again, it wouldn’t be impossible to fix but it would take time for them to recharge.

He guessed that he had at least a three hour wait and with some creative rewiring he could get enough juice to get him out of this place and into a jump, but only if he didn’t have any extra company along the way.

Din had no choice. He had to hunker down. So with a sigh, he turned off the rest of the controls and sat down to wait.

Waiting was something that Din was accustomed to. Waiting for a bounty, waiting for his next job, waiting and sitting in the endless stream of hyperspace.

Anaxes though was still. So quiet that the only thing Din could hear from outside was junk clinking against one another and the subtle shifts of rock. He trusted that he was safe, but the silence descended upon him so thick he could hear his heart pound and his jaw click.

Everything seemed to be too loud, from the creak in his chair, the deliberate thud of his steps, the hop down the ladder and succeeding bang as he landed in the lower deck. Something in Din’s lizard brain told himself that he was being too loud.

But this feeling was common in space, and Din set aside the feeling to turn his attention on his weapons cabinet. He pulled out a blaster, a cloth, and started the meticulous process of disassembling it.

Even with his concentration on the task, Din’s heart would race as the ship settled. It made him jittery to hear small pieces clicking together, the rough scrape of fabric against calloused fingers, or even his own breath like his quiet reverie wasn’t enough to hide him.

But there was nothing to hide from, Din told himself.

There was only himself here.

Or so he thought.

A bang shattered the silence and Din jumped to his feet. His muscles were engaged, heart racing at a million miles an hour and once he was up, he froze waiting for it to happen again. Another loud clang, and Din pulled out an assembled blaster.

There was something rapping against the gangplank like a neighbor had wandered over to knock on his door.

Din took a careful step toward the area and the knocking became more insistent. With each step the banging became louder, numerous, like there was a whole platoon of troopers outside. Even so, Din trudged forward, magnetic as he made his way to the edge of the gangway. The noise was almost manic, desperate, calling out, calling Din and tempting him forward.

The moment he stepped onto the gangway, one move away from triggering the door. The noise all of a sudden stopped and plunged Din back into steely silence. The quiet made his ears ring and for a moment, he wondered if he heard it in the first place.

He reached over to engage the ramp, and anticipation swelled as it made its slow descent. From here he could see the rocky shores of the asteroid. Relief washed over him, half-expecting something monstrous to immediately take up his sight but then the ramp revealed the top of a shiny head.

A familiar vizor.

A body adorned with a chest plate, pauldrons, and gaunlets.

A tasset and a pair of greaves down to the tips of its feet.

This had to be a dream, a hallucination, perhaps in his haste he concussed himself. But there standing in front of him was a figure much like himself except in the way it stood as if someone had propped up a doll.

“Who are you?” Din choked out, fear icing his tone.

The figure tilted its head to the side. “You’re here by yourself,” it replied not as a question but a matter of fact.

“And then what?” Han asked, and both Leia and Luke shushed him for interrupting.

Din cocked his head to the side, rolling the question around in his head, savoring the look on Han’s face, “I don’t really remember.”

The answer made Han seem to shrink away from the man and Din continued, “Anyway the thrusters rebooted, and I hightailed out of there. The end.”

“What do you mean the end?!”, Han complained. “What happened to the—the—your evil twin!”

One of the twins cried out “Hey!” but Din was already answering by shrugging his shoulders,

Han became more zealous, “How do we know it didn’t get you? How do we know you’re the real Din?”

“What do you think?” Din replied with a glint a mischief in his visor.

Beside them, the twins started to burst out laughing and Han grimaced. Luke piped up, “Well, if it means anything, I like this Din.”

Han guffawed, “How can you say that? What if he replaced the real Din?”

Luke considered this for a moment, “Well that would also mean I’ve never met the real Din. Didn’t date the real Din. Didn’t marry the real Din. Which means I like this Din better.”

Han erupted into an argument about the merits of marrying an evil doppelganger and Din sat back into his seat against the fire. The normally quiet Mandalorian went back to being pensive, observant, awaiting his next move.