When the Mandalorian took it upon himself to save the child that was once his bounty, he had no clue what his next step was. Disappearing from Nevarro and becoming a traitor to The Guild, he was now on the run. With the child now in his possession h...
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As a child moving was easy. Jumping was easy. Crawling into small places to hide was easy. But the one thing that was hard was understanding the stories my father would tell me. Understanding them truly as he tried to mask the darkness behind his words to a child. As a kid the stories felt like just that, stories. But as I grew older, I unmasked the darkness behind them, learning that they were more than stories...they were warnings.
I stood by the large black crate staring down at my father's lightsaber. His was different from my mother's. Mostly black with hints of silver, cold and jaded like he was. Verses my mother whose lightsaber had the gold tips. Reminding me of the brightness she always eluded when she was around us. I never understood how they fell in love. At the time I thought it was out of convenience. Two Jedi's left alone in the world of the Empire. Cutting themselves off from the Force for their own protection. Only training their children in the hope they would never have to depend on the Force.
My small hand grazed the steel on the saber. My eyes not locking away from it as my father began packing things away from our training. Pulling up the floorboards below us to hide away the items. To hide away that Jedi lived here. At the time he never explained why he did that; it wasn't until I was older that I understood we were being hunted.
"Is there a weapon stronger than a lightsaber?" I asked him. I heard his footsteps pause. Silence filled the room as he tried his best to think of a safe way to explain things to a child.
"Where is this coming from, Amara?" He asked, trying to avoid the question.
"I was just wondering." I mumbled a reply. Worried I was going to be reprimanded for asking such a thing.
I turned to my father as he just stared at me. Choosing his words carefully. There was always a time I knew a story was coming. This was one of those times. My father turned away, kneeling down and continuing to put things under the floorboard. Refusing to look at me as he told his story.
"A long time ago, there was a weapon called the Darksaber. Hidden away by the Jedi, but why they hid it I'm not sure. It was stolen later by the Mandalorian's and was used to slay the Jedi. Many were lost at the hands of that saber."
"Is it stronger than a lightsaber?"
"I think it depends on the welder." He said simply, "But what made it dangerous was what it represented. It was a symbol of power for the Mandalorian's and was believed to be cursed. You could only wield the Darksaber if it is won in battle. If not, then misfortune would fall to you and the people of Mandalore. Which eventually happened."
I stood silently as he finished his tale. I just stared at him, no words leaving my mouth. It sounded like another one of his old stories. Making me question how much he told me was real and how much was embellished for the dramatics. As a child I felt like things were not as dark as he made them seem. But for some reason, this story got to me. If the wrong person wielding the Darksaber was able to bring down an entire group of people an entire planet filled with culture...what could that mean for those like me? It made me shudder at the thought.
