Summary: A little girl on the planet that Din had left you on a few years ago asks him if he's a Mandalorian. Din doesn't know how she would even know what a Mandalorian is or looks like since she's so young. He finds that the girl is the daughter of him and his wife.
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After leaving you on a secluded planet to keep you safe, Din comes back. He had delivered the Child to his people; completed his mission. He looks for you at a marketplace four cycles after the day he left. It's not too busy, but bustling enough for him to be hyper-aware of his surroundings. Anyone could be you.
He's walking around, making sure to check the faces of the people working at each stall, hoping each time that it's you. His confidence drops as he registers each person. And then, he thinks he sees you.
"Cyar'ika [darling]," he calls out. It's weak, but he knows that if they were you, they'd turn around. Who else would speak Mando'a in this backwater planet? But you do not turn.
Perhaps you had not heard him. He feels his heart pounding in his chest so loud that he swears it's audible to everyone else. Din's collected a few odd stares so far. He wouldn't blame the market people. His kind was not the kind to come to such a place. But his mind was focused on you, and only you.
Footsteps getting heavier and heavier, he calls out to you again. This time, he calls you by your name.
No response.
Din swallows thickly. Surely it's you. It has to be. But when he taps on your shoulder, and an unfamiliar face meets him, he is proven wrong.
"Sorry," he finds himself saying. "Wrong person."
Looking back, he doesn't even know how he did it. He has no idea how he mustered enough energy to continue. But he was here for you and wouldn't leave until he found you, or directions to you. If the Maker wouldn't do anything for him, he begged the stars. He sent up a silent prayer up to the rest of the universe, hoping that someone would listen and let him find his way back to you.
Lost in his pleas, the reputed Mandalorian does not notice the slight tugging on his cape. Din waves it off as the material getting snubbed on some sort of rock. The ground here had not been redone in a while. Rocks of all sizes scattered the pathway weaving around the market and it was not the first time that it had been caught on something.
Angered at yet another failure to find you, he doesn't even shake his cape to get the threads uncaught. Instead, he marches on harder. If it ripped, so be it.
"Hello?"
He stops. Turns. At first, he cannot see who called his name.
Something tugs on his cape again.
He starts to complain, "Wh-"
And then stops. He is met with the small, round face of a young girl. Toddler, probably. She couldn't be more than three or four years old. Immediately, he notices five things:
