Mandalorian Lost

Chapter 9

As we pass through the atmosphere, the night sky turns into the inky black vastness of space glittered with stars. I feel free out here, like I'm untouchable.

I stare out at the space around us as Mando switches to autopilot and makes his way back down the cockpit ladder. I don't mind being alone. Letting out a heavy sigh, I lean my head against the back of my seat. My mind wanders back to Nevarro. It seems like ages ago when I actually travelled on my own, yet it had only been a few weeks. Maybe it would've been better if I just let the Mandalorian take Grogu right when we met.

That thought gets interrupted when Mando steps back into the cockpit, the little green child in his arms. He sets him down in my lap before returning to his own seat. I smile down at the child whose bulging black eyes beam up at me.

No, I don't think giving him up to the Mandalorian was ever an option.

I can't bear to imagine the poor kid getting dragged into whatever Mandalorian cult Mando belonged to. He'd live a life solely devoted to supporting the Mandalorians, the Creed. His powers would determine his worth to them. He'd never belong, not truly.

He's better off with a Jedi, honestly. I don't know very much about the Jedi, considering I was basically raised as a Sith acolyte, but I know they put more emphasis on selflessness and peacekeeping. Or at least, they did when they existed. I used to convince one of the Inquisitors, Trilla, to tell me about them. We'd sit in her room in the small hours of the night and whisper all the things we were never allowed to speak of. She spoke of the Jedi and what it was like being a Padawan. She didn't speak highly of the Jedi, but every now and then, her voice went soft. Once, she even admitted that most of the Jedi were kind.

I used to tell her about Pre Vizsla, the only Mandalorian I still believe in. He was killed by a Sith, ironically, but Maul is long gone now. He'd been avenged, somehow.

I still remember the day we were told of Trilla's death.

Vader killed her. I wasn't exactly surprised by that at the time, but I was surprised that she was truly dead. The others called her a traitor to the Empire. A fraud. A weakling. I wasn't allowed to mourn her. My master, the Fourth Sister, forbade it. Vader even came to see me, but it wasn't exactly a comforting visit.

I shudder slightly at the memory of his booming voice, his hissing breath, and the hum of his crimson blade. The Emperor didn't often send Darth Vader to see me, but when he did, it was never a good thing.

Gentle claws press against my stomach, tearing me from my thoughts and bringing me back to the Razor Crest and the open space around us. Mando flies manually beside me, despite us not really having a destination in mind. I frown down at the child currently pressing his tiny hand against my middle, cocking my head to the side.

He coos gently, a hint of concern in his tone, and presses harder. My eyes widen when I feel the gentle currents of the force flowing from his hand to my stomach. My blaster wound isn't too bad now, even after being reopened on the way to the ship, but I can feel him healing what remains.

"Wait," I whisper, hoping to stop him before he completely drains himself. Mando turns toward us, stiffening when he looks down at the kid. After a moment, Grogu sighs, slumping into my lap and promptly falling asleep. I pull up on my shirt and stretch the top of the bandage wrapping to peek down at my skin. It looks good as new.

"What was that?" Mando asks, gesturing between me and Grogu. I shrug, still amazed at the kid's powers.

"He healed me," I breathe out, setting my shirt back into place. "It was already starting to scar over anyway, but he had enough power to heal what was left."