The Mandalorian's Slave

The School

I can't say I'm happy to be back on Nevarro. I can't say I'm happy about much now.

The fight between Din and I is over, but gloom still clings to me. I can't help but feel disposable. People on Nevarro may be able to fix our ship, but they can't fix the jagged edges of my heart.

Greef Karga and Cara Dune are awaiting us as we land. The ramp of the Razor Crest groans and creaks, but refuses to extend all the way. The drop is only about four feet, so I'm surprised when I feel the Mandalorian's arm tighten around my waist. He lowers me gracefully while I do my best to not seem flustered.

"Looks like someone could use some repairs," Karga says, stepping forward.

I take a moment to study Greef Karga as him and my Master clasp hands. Karga's clothes are much finer now, with bits of gold gleaming in the hot Nevarro sun. He seems less scruffy and more refined.

"How's my credit around here?" Din asks, surveying the town in the distance.

"I think something could be arranged. Isn't that right, Marshal?" Karga exchanged a glance with Cara, who looks exactly the same but with slightly longer hair.

"I'm sure we can work something out," Cara says, smiling at the Child. Perhaps there is a difference in her. There's a glow to her skin, a gleam in her eye, a certain pride and happiness that wasn't there before.

"I'll get my best people on it." Karga promises us. He turns over his shoulder, where a small crew is working. "Hey fellas! Let's fix this man's ship! I want it as good as new." His warm gaze lands on the Child, tucked neatly in my arms. "And you, come here, little one!" Karga takes the Child with a chuckle. "Has Mando and his girlfriend been taking good care of you, huh?"

"I'm not his girlfriend," I sputter, my blood rushing to my face.

"Is that what the two of you tell yourselves?" Cara flashes us a mischievous smile. "Come on, we've got lots to talk about."

We follow the pair across town. I try my best to not get lost in the memory of my first time here. It seems like a lifetime ago.

I still eye the city like a hungry child. I love the bright red banners flapping proudly in the barest of breezes. The chatter of the bazaar is like music to my ears. I soak in the clothes the women wear. They're mostly earth-toned, with a vibrant pop of color. I'm enthralled by the yellow belts and blue headscarves and intricate braids. Nevarro seems more alive than the last time I was here.

"Looks like you two have been busy," I say in awe.

"I myself have been steeped in clerical work," Karga says. "Marshal Dune here is to be thanked for cleaning up the town."

Cara dodges the compliment. "Your ship's not looking too good," she says instead.

"I had a run-in with the New Republic," Din admits.

"They should leave the Outer Rim alone," Greef grumbles. "If the Empire couldn't settle it, what makes them think they can?" He marches briskly to a tavern that I recognize all too well. My mind pulls up images of Din bleeding, me begging him to let me save him, the fire raging around us. I shudder silently. "Here we are."

"I'm surprised to see this place is still standing," the Mandalorian says lightly, as if he didn't almost die here.

Cara flashes us a smile. "Wait till you see inside."

The loud voice of a female protocol droid greets us as we follow the pair inside. "Who can name one of the five major trade routes in the galaxy?" There's a pause. "Anyone?" I stare at the room full of children. They sit in neat rows, all staring at the droid intensely. "How about the Corellian Run?"