𝐜𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐞'𝐬𝐞 - 𝘥𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘫𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯

A Warrior's Purpose

a warrior's purpose • din's daughter
Din returns to the planet where he'd left his riduur many years ago to find her again—but instead, he finds someone else.

—§—

Din's found himself on Jallus—once again. Of course he has. There's too many things he's trying to find here: happiness. A future. Her.

Din knows he left all three of those things behind when he left her on the pastoral planet Jallus. He didn't want to, but she'd insisted. She was holding him up, keeping him from being able to do what he needs to for his foundling. She didn't want him to have to worry for her. He needed to focus on himself, on the child. She'd promised she'd still be here when he was ready.

He's been ready for years, now—but Din can't find her.

Din's searched the planet high and low. He's asked the villagers, but some say they don't know. Others tell him she's gone. He asks where, and they won't answer. Din doesn't understand what changed her mind, what made her decide that waiting for him wasn't worth it, what made her flee to a planet likely far away from where he'll ever venture in this galaxy.

Still, he comes to Jallus, clinging to the hope that he'll find her somehow. She'll come and collapse into his arms where he'll be waiting to catch her, telling Din all about how she'd left because she was afraid something had happened to him, and she had to know what was going on, but she couldn't find him anywhere. Din will reassure her that it's all right, he's been looking for her too, and he's ready to slip off his helmet and spend the rest of his lifetime by her side.

I've missed you, riduur, he dreams of her voice saying to him. But it's always a phantom sound, whistling through his ears like the wind against his helmet as he walks through the main city of Jallus yet again.

Din knows he's nearing the marketplace now. He can hear the hustle and bustle of those who aren't quite as haunted as him, people who can move on with their lives because they're not clinging to something they've lost. Din's felt so hollow ever since he returned the child to his people—and being unable to find her only made it worse. He's never felt more like the shell of beskar everyone thinks he is than he has in recent years. Din's not sure if he ever will feel something more again.

His wandering thoughts come to a halt when Din hears a noise that triggers a familiar feeling within him. There's a soft cry that he knows no one else would hear—but after years of caring for a child, he's learned to pick up on it right away. Din stops in his tracks, bringing a gloved hand to his helmet as he triggers his heat sensors. His breath catches in his throat when he sees a small heap curled up in a nearby alleyway, and Din can't help himself from heading in that direction.

Slowly, Din makes his way into the alley, his once-cold heart now twisting into knots at the sight of a small girl huddled up against a few empty wooden boxes. Her face is buried in the knees she has pulled up to her chest. She wears a tunic that bears quite a few holes, her pants also ripped and dirty—signs of how worn they've been. There's a mass of dark curls that are ragged atop her head, the pieces of hair waving in the drift of wind that blows through the alleyway. Din suddenly thinks of when he was in a position such as this, in that small moment before the doors of the bunker had been thrown open. His heart aches for her.

When Din reaches her, he kneels beside her, tilting his helmet as she recognizes his presence. She lifts her face and Din can see the tracks of wet tears on her small cheeks. She doesn't look much older than seven, yet here she is, all alone in a rather large city. She wipes her cheeks with the backs of her small hands, blinking up at Din with eyes he recognizes but can't place.

"What's wrong, little one?" Din asks, his modulated voice soft as he attempts to make the child feel at ease.

"I'm sorry," her small voice responds sincerely, and Din wishes he could fight the entire galaxy for the way a child so young is trying to apologize for crying while in need. "I didn't mean to be so loud."