The two fighters cut across the sky, weaving clear of rival patrols, and made it back to base.
Kurt, worn thin from overusing the Force, leaned hard against the fighter’s hull as he climbed down.
Omen caught him at once, steering him toward the rest area, and the others fell in behind without a word, matching their steps to their leader’s slower pace.
“Omen, get everyone settled first.
I just need to rest a minute.
Go on, all of you, back to work.” Kurt waved him off, pushing gently past.
“Sure thing, Boss.
Shout if you need us.”
While Kurt slept, a Republic Consular-class cruiser descended through the war-torn skies over Sundari and touched down in the New Mandalorian district.
In the makeshift, half-collapsed council chamber, Duchess Satine Kryze pressed her fingers to her temples, exhaustion etched into every line of her face.
Outside the window, Death Watch’s guns hadn’t gone quiet once.
“Your Grace.
The Jedi Masters have arrived,” a guard announced.
Satine’s head came up, a flicker of hope breaking through.
Two figures stepped through the doorway — the taller one carrying a quiet, unshakeable presence, his eyes gentle but somehow seeing straight through everything in the room.
Master Qui-Gon Jinn.
Behind him, the younger man, Obi-Wan Kenobi, swept the room with careful, watchful eyes, one hand resting near his lightsaber hilt as if by accident.
“Master Qui-Gon.
Thank you for coming.” Satine rose, bowing, urgency straining her voice.
“Mandalore needs the Jedi’s—”
Qui-Gon lifted a hand gently, and she stopped.
His gaze had already drifted past her, toward the southern district — the area where the fighting had just settled, sand starting to drift back over the wreckage.
His brow creased, almost imperceptibly.
He could feel something lingering there in the Force.
“Your Grace.” Qui-Gon’s voice stayed even.
“Tell us what happened here — everything.
The southern district, especially.
Has anything unusual occurred there recently?”
Satine blinked, and the memory surfaced — the strange air support, the sudden ground assault.
“The south?
A few hours ago, a Death Watch unit moving against a Clan Wren stronghold was attacked by…
an unknown force.
They took heavy losses.
Some of Clan Wren’s women and children were extracted.
We suspect another resistance faction, but no clan or organization has claimed responsibility.
Their ship was…” A flash of memory crossed her mind — almost a face.
Kurt’s face, though she couldn’t place why.
“Unusual.”
“Unusual how?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help asking.
Satine pieced together the scattered reports in her head.
“Witnesses described something…
large, and capable of changing shape.
Its firepower was devastating — it destroyed several Death Watch fighters almost instantly.
The ground assault looked like a small, well-coordinated strike team, though their equipment appeared to be a mismatched patchwork.” She hesitated, still unable to make sense of it herself.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a glance.
A massive vehicle that could transform?
That kind of firepower?
Nothing in any known Mandalorian faction’s arsenal, nor any mercenary company’s, matched that description.
And that lingering trace in the Force — an unknown Force-sensitive?
Or something more complicated still?
“We understand.” Qui-Gon nodded, a direction already forming in his mind.
“Your Grace, we will do everything we can to protect you, and we will investigate this.
But first, we need to see the southern district ourselves.
Whoever this unknown party is may hold the key to resolving Mandalore’s crisis.”
Kurt lay in the makeshift rest area for the better part of a day.
The noise of the base — children crying, the wounded groaning, Omen’s voice barking orders as he settled Clan Wren’s people — pressed against his nerves like a physical weight.
“Boss.
Drink this.” A small, timid voice broke through.
Lina, who looked after the younger children, held out a cup of cloudy, filtered water.
Kurt pushed himself upright and drained it in one go, the cold cutting through the raw burn in his throat — he’d never pushed the Force this hard before, not once.
“Thanks, Lina.
How’s it look out there?” His voice came out hoarse.
“Omen’s sorting out housing.
Food’s…
getting tight,” Lina said quietly.
“Some of the Wren adults are helping with the wounded — they brought some emergency medkits with them.
And…
everyone’s crowding around the fighter.
Nobody’s brave enough to touch it, though.”
Kurt nodded, his body still heavy, waterlogged from how hard he’d drained the Force.
“Tell Omen — everyone who can hold a blaster, get them assembled at the shipyard gate after dinner.
I need to say something.” The hours of forced rest had given him time to think it through: to build anything real, the civil war had to end first.
Which meant helping the New Mandalorians.
Which meant helping his cousin.
Just then, the modified encrypted comm at his belt — cobbled together from Hyperion parts — buzzed with a faint, rhythmic pulse.
The AI.
Kurt sat up straighter, waved Lina out, and dragged himself to a quieter corner to open the channel.
“Commander Kurt.
Signal’s weak, I’ll keep this brief.” Faint static laced the AI’s voice.
“Initial survey of Vadiira complete.
Surface readings are sparse, but deep scans show something…
anomalous.”
“Anomalous.
Minerals?” Kurt’s chest tightened.
“Confirmed substantial extractable metal deposits, within expected parameters.
Mining mules are already deployed to the primary vein.
We’ve also identified significant quantities of an extremely dense ore known as beskar.
The anomaly is a separate finding — an artificial cavity deep beneath the surface, possibly a Mandalorian ruin.
Deep scan of the entrance is currently blocked.
Unlocking it further will require additional resources, either for deeper scanning or physical access.”
A ruin.
Kurt’s pupils narrowed.
Mandalore’s history ran far older and stranger than most outsiders ever guessed.
This could be a disaster waiting to happen.
Or it could be everything he needed.
“Prioritize the mining operation.
Mark the ruin’s coordinates and hold position — stay silent until I give the order.” Kurt cut the channel, thoughts churning.
An ancient Mandalorian ruin.
What was down there?
Lost technology?
Something dangerous?
Or — secrets about the Force itself?
He pressed his fingers against his aching temples and walked toward the hangar.
The Viking stood there, a silent steel giant, ringed by a crowd of half-grown kids staring up at it in awe.
Omen stood nearby, mid-story, recounting Kurt’s feats in the sky.
He straightened the moment he saw Kurt approaching.
“Boss!
Everyone’s here!
Where are we hitting next?” The kids’ eyes still burned with the thrill of victory and a hunger for whatever came next.
Kurt looked out over their faces — young, but hardened — then out past the hangar doors, where the sky churned with drifting sand.
Death Watch’s retaliation was coming, sooner rather than later.
He took a slow breath.
“It’s not about where we hit next.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried to every corner of the hangar.
“It’s about staying alive.
We’ve already struck Death Watch — they won’t let this go.
Right now we need food, water, weapon parts, medicine, and more strength to protect what we’ve built here.
So we’re going to end the civil war.
Let our people choose their own future.
Starting with this.”
He laid a hand on the Viking’s cold armor plating.
“I’m going to reach out to my cousin, Duchess Satine, and help the peacemakers win this war.
Mandalore has been bleeding long enough.
It’s time it stopped.”
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd at his words, but no one pushed back — every person standing there owed their life to Kurt, pulled out one by one with his own hands.
In their eyes, he’d already earned the right to lead them anywhere.
Once the gathering broke up, Kurt found Omen.
“Isn’t Clan Wren sworn to Clan Vizsla?
Why were they under attack?”
“Long story.” Omen sighed.
“Clan Wren’s chieftain, back at Clawnest, sided with the war against the New Mandalorians.
But the branch living here in Sundari never wanted any part of it.
That’s how we ended up where we are.”
“That’s right, Cousin Kurt.” Ersha Wren stepped in, picking up the thread.
“But all our adults got taken by Clan Vizsla’s people — that’s why I reached out to Cousin Omen for help.”
“I see,” Kurt said.