Star Wars - Shadows Of The Outer Rim

11. | The Mandalorian

Kiera woke to cold stone pressing into her cheek and the unmistakable hum of a ship's engines idling nearby.

Her vision swam as she forced her eyes open. Night had fully claimed the sky, thick, starless clouds choking out the moons above. The only light came from the ship itself, harsh white beams cutting across jagged rock and throwing long, distorted shadows. They'd landed on a slab of stone barely large enough to hold the transport, surrounded on all sides by empty blackness and a sheer drop into nothing.

Her wrists burned. She tried to move and felt the restraints immediately, stun cuffs locked tight behind her back. Her muscles tensed, fury flaring hot in her chest as memory snapped into place.

The ambush. The masked man. The way the fight had ended far too quickly. He had blindsided her, she was too focused on Yorin instead of the fight. She should have reached for Force precognition, should have slowed, focused, tried to see his next move before it came. Instead, she hadn't. It was another small, stupid mistake, and there were too many of those lately. Kiera wondered, not for the first time, what her master would say if he were here.

"No," she breathed, jaw tightening.

A few meters away, Yorin lay slumped against a crate, bound and unconscious. His chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. Relief flickered through her anger, short-lived, but real. Voices carried through the night.

"...can't believe our luck," one of them said, helmet tilted toward her. "A Jedi. You know what this'll do for our reputation?"

Another laughed. "If we live long enough to enjoy it. We need to get moving."

"Fast," a third added. "Before anyone comes looking."

Boots crunched against stone as someone approached. The others fell silent, not out of fear, but respect. He stepped into the light.

The same mask, although she could see it clearer now. Angular, expressionless, reflecting the ship's glow in dull silver lines. His armor bore the same insignia she'd glimpsed during their first clash, an interlocking star fractured by a diagonal slash. She burned the image into her mind. The armor. The mask. Realization struck hard. A Mandalorian, sworn rivals of the Jedi. No wonder the fight had turned against her so quickly.

He stopped just short of her, studying her like a problem to be solved. Her gaze dropped and her breath hitched. Hanging from his belt, secured by a magnetic clasp, was her lightsaber.

"I wasn't expecting a Jedi," he said at last. His voice was calm, measured. No mockery. No triumph. "That complicates things."

Kiera lifted her chin, eyes flicking pointedly to his belt. "You're wearing something that belongs to me."

A pause. He followed her gaze, placing a hand to rest on the hilt then looked back at her. "Am I?"

"Yes," she snapped. "Give it back."

A faint tilt of his helmet, almost amusement.

"I don't think so," he said evenly. "I don't have a yellow one yet."

Her jaw tightened. Fury coiled sharp and hot in her chest. "You're not keeping it. And you're not keeping me."

"I don't intend to," he replied evenly. "Not for long."

That made her pause. "You look like a talker. That could be useful."

"For what?" she snapped.

"For answers," he said simply. "Things we're looking for. People who don't want to be found."

"And you think I'll help you?" she scoffed.

"I think," he said, "that everyone has a breaking point."