What's a Mandalorian? || Din Djarin

11|Trigger|

Taking a lightsaber apart to clean it is therapeutic. Ever since I was allowed to use a saber, my dad taught me to clean it properly. He always said a clean saber is a life-saving saber.

I'm lucky to have inherited my father's lightsaber. I hear they're rare nowadays. There are barely any Jedi left to use them, though. 

My saber is gorgeous. The hilt, a matte black color with gold details, fits in my palm perfectly. It's not too thick or thin, and it rests in my grip like it was made for me. It's a pretty simple design, too. The handle is lightly ribbed, making it a little easier to grip in battle. The top and bottom of the hilt are thinly lined in a shiny gold metal. It's force-activated, so there's no button or switch on my saber. 

My father had the privilege to travel to Ilum when he was young to get his very own kyber crystal. The crystal that attracted him just happened to be one of the most rare colors possible. The golden-yellow hue that this crystal creates is one of the prettiest I've ever seen, and I feel so fortunate to be in possession of it. It's somewhere between gold and a rich shade of yellow. It's almost like the color of the sun on a warm season's evening, just before the sun begins its descent back into the darkness. It's one of a kind.

There are only a few components to a lightsaber, and they're really easy to clean. There's the hilt, the emitter, and the focusing ring. Once you take the pieces apart and wipe them down, the saber is good as new. You just have to make sure you put the pieces back together correctly. 

The whole cleaning process is relaxing to me. It puts me in somewhat of a trance, letting all the thoughts in my head quiet for a few peaceful moments. Until one particular metallic idiot disturbs my peace.

"Could you teach me to use the saber like you do?" Mando strolls casually to the ship where I'm sat inside.

I glare at him. I understand his reasoning behind giving me a heart attack earlier, but I'm still not happy about it. 

"It's impressive what you do with it. I'd like to learn," he says. He's trying to butter me up. I roll my eyes.

"You have a lot of learning to do," I say, trying to poke fun at him. He was pretty awful with it, I will admit. I reattach each of the pieces of my saber and ignite it. I stand up and hop out the ship, landing directly in front of Mando.

"Rule number one: don't do whatever the fuck that was earlier. Do not attack me without telling me its a spar." I wave my saber around in his face and await his response.

"Got it," he says with a nod. 

"Rule number two: you teach me how to shoot in return," I declare. I've never shot a blaster, nor have I ever owned one, but I want to learn. 

"If that's what you want," he says.

"And seriously, don't ever do that again. You're scary." I look at him directly in the visor again, trying to make myself as clear as possible. Mando drops slightly after I say 'scary' and looks down at the ground. He sinks inside his armor a little bit, probably feeling bad. 

"Eat first, then we'll start," I say as I start walking toward the fire pit.

*

"So why is that saber so weird looking?" I ask with a full mouth. I cooked up a pot of soupy grains over the fire for lunch. It's pretty flavorless, but we have almost no food, so this will have to do.

"It's the dark saber," he replies. His helmet is off as we eat back-to-back.

"I have no idea what that means, Mando."

"It's an ancient Mandalorian weapon. Whoever wields it rules all of Mandalore."

"That... seems like a big responsibility. You rule a whole planet?"