Jedi and The Knight

Dust

HIII!!! First thing I want to say is SORRY! I promise I have been working on this chapter for so long. I was having some issues with productivity and just sitting down and working. It's a thing that always happens with my chapters but this one was especially hard because The Mandalorian was a hyper fixation and throughout the timespan of writing this chapter I got more of them and focused more on other stuff. My goal is to finish this story before summer but prob won't happen because my school ends in three weeks. I'm going to a summer camp and I'll be writing my chapters on paper lol. Anyway I made the decision to cut this chapter in half and write the second half later. You guys are the only thing keeping me writing this so thank you thank you thank you. Also if you want I'm totally up to write another story based on Winter Soldier/ Bucky Barnes because that is my current fixation. ANYWAY please enjoy and once again SORRY.

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Dust. It's all just dust. Din steps through the debris of his ship, picking up and tossing back down surviving wreckage, pieces of metal, big and small. His beskar staff survived, of course, due to its strength. He dusts it off and attaches it to his back. A shiny glimmer within the soot gleams, catching his attention. He bends down and picks up a small, metallic ball, Grogu's ball. He shoves it into his empty ammo holder and continues on, pushing back the painful reminder of the child who was stolen from him.

And her, Mars. He promised he would protect her, keep her safe. He's just some bounty hunter taking care of a kid who doesn't have the audacity to share his face with a woman who had exposed herself to him. She's broken every rule she could, looped every hole, and how many has he broken? None. He's seen every side of her, and he had given her nothing except his time, which still wasn't enough because she's not here now holding him, telling him they can do this together. Din's alone. Drowning in pity and regret. Surrounded by more faceless masks who dared to suggest giving them away willingly.

The strangers watch from afar as he mourns the ruins of his ship and the loss of the only ones whom he loved. Stomping by the silent group and back up the hill to Mars' ship.

The once vibrant hull filled with trinkets crammed in shelves and memories and stories held within them was void of the thing that made the ship hers. The ship was quiet, dim, crowded, and no longer hummed with her energy. The hatch of the ship closed, making Din hidden from eyes that could see him. After finding Grogu, he had always had lurking eyes and had very little privacy, but now, the loneliness is unwelcome.

Din lifts up his helmet, and the hiss from his helmet breaks the silence. As his mask lifts, it rushes volumes of air, and the scent from the ship attacks his nose. Though she was gone, her scent, which he had only had a taste of once, engulfs him. He pauses, collecting himself, and places his helmet down.

From what he could gather, he smelt books, clean robes, Minerals. And... a flower? He didn't know which one, but it smelt of, honey, moss, rain? He looks around for a hint, and above a bookcase, a small wilted pink rose hangs upside down. Tenderly, he picks it up, careful not to cause any petals to fall, and brings it up to his nose. He closes his eyes and breathes in. His eyebrows furrow, and his eyes crinkle.

She smelt like a rose, his favorite.

He gently places it back on the wall and keeps looking around the hull. He picks up a dusty book off one of the shelves and dusts it off. The book was wrapped in worn-out leather, and a bookmark stuck out from the middle. He flips the marked page and reads the faded words.

"It's my birthday today, I think, and last time I checked, that means I'm now thirteen. At this age, If I were still at the temple, my Master would give me a gift, and I'd have to reflect on my past; by tradition. I don't feel the need to look back now, nor do I really want to. I only look forward to the future and what it may hold for me. I haven't held an actual conversation with anyone in about five years now, but I don't get lonely that often... Usually, I'm too busy finding work, hiding, or decorating my ship. I've met some kind people who probably have more interesting stories than me, but it's too dangerous, I can feel it. There are lonely people out there, and I hope that I can one day be their friend. Maybe the war would stop if everyone was less lonely. I do sense hope for the future; that I know.