Kamino - Blog Posts
Dogma Headcanon
When he was a cadet on Kamino, he was not the same reg-loving guy. He broke the rules, snuck food, classic cadet behavior.
*Obviously, Tup was his batchmate. They were the closest in their group.
ANYways, in a training sim gone wrong due to their team going off protocol, his entire batch besides he and Tup got killed. Tup suffered a head wound, which while didn’t cause significant damage then, is what got the ball rolling in his chip decaying. Dogma, on the other hand, only had minor damage.
After this, Dogma followed the regs more closely, but it still wasn’t to the full extent as we saw during the show. He stopped sneaking food, and he broke the rules less, but he was still a fun guy.
One day, Dogma accidentally overheard the Kaminoans talking about the chips. He ran away back to his bunk room, but not before being noticed by the Kaminoans.
Dogma was escorted to the lab, where the Kaminoans demanded to know what he had heard. Dogma, knowing better than to lie to a Kaminoan, told them. After gaining this information, they *reconditioned Dogma, but only of the information that they didn’t want him to know. Once the process was over, they threatened harm to his person if he ever told anyone what had just happened.
After this incident, Dogma became more reserved, and only talked to Tup. This is also when he became a target of bullying, which also contributed to his love for regs as they were the only thing (besides Tup) that never hurt him.
A few days before being shipped out to their battalions, the Kaminoans pulled Dogma to the side. As a final effort to scare Dogma into behaving, they threatened to harm Tup and himself if he ever disobeyed commands. After hours of threats and a deep cut curved around his eye (which Dogma eventually got his memorable tattoo to cover) Dogma promised to never speak of what had just happened.
His first battalion was serving with the 501st, and not even a year into his deployment the Umbara arc happened.
*Reconditioning. In this little au, I imagine reconditioning to be somewhat different than what is normally seen in Star Wars fics. The Kaminoans can select what clones can and cannot remember, and to what extent. Reconditioning is very painful and traumatic, and only works when the clone is awake. The more specific an event removal is, the more pain it causes. In Dogma’s case, they knew that removing his entire encounter with overhearing the Kaminoans would be useless, and cause eventual suspicion, so they just took out the part where Dogma heard what they were discussing.
+Something to note: the more a clone is reconditioned, the less stable their chip becomes. That’s why more clones are decommissioned than reconditioned, as the Kaminoans didn’t want their plans to be revealed. In Dogma’s case, after he was reconditioned, his chip stability decreased. During Umbara, Krell noticed something weird with Dogma, and when he did some force shit and found a link to manipulate Dogma using his chip (not that Krell new that’s what it was) he used this newfound knowledge for his own gain. He now had a clone that would listen to his command, and he could destruct the clones’ trust in one another. Throughout this all, Dogma was unaware of his or Krell’s actions, and only came to when Rex was hesitating to shoot Krell. After he shot Krell, his memories came rolling in, about what he did and what Krell did to him and everything else he witnessed during the Umbara arc.
If anyone wants to write something about this go ahead! Just put the fic and where I can find it in the comments so I can read it :)
Last year I found this behind a stack of Ashoka Funko pops in a Comic con store, (not an actual one 😭) I couldn’t believe I found this so I got it! But sadly I couldn’t get the signed Hunter version…
YOU WILL COME HOME HUNTER 🩵
Meet Renegade Force 99
Hello all!
We're Renegade Force 99, the muns for our AU Bad Batch, Renegade Force 99.
Our members are Hunter (@sergeant-migraine), Tech (@obviously-99), Crosshair (@toothpick-man), Wrecker (@kersplosion99), Echo, and Kix (@chronically-underpaid).
The details of our AU is as follows:
Season 1 followed canon up till the finale. Crosshair still stayed on the platform while the rest of the Batch left. During his time stuck there, he came to realize that not all of Tipoca city had been destroyed, and that some of his brothers were trapped in the rubble.
When he was picked up by the Empire, he made the decision to send out a covert message to Rex, anonymously apprising him of the situation. Rex made his way to Tipoca city with The Bad Batch, working to rescue their brothers (who had begun working to rebuild the city as an underwater stronghold). Over time, the clones work to rebuild this hidden underwater city, and Rex uses this as a base of operations for his rescue missions, bringing all troopers back to the city to be de-chipped when they escape the Empire.
The Batch also returns to New Tipoca City frequently, where they eventually pick up a team medic, Kix, who has escaped from a crashed ship where he was being held captive with the help of his brother, Fives.
Throughout the events of season 2, Crosshair sends covert messages to Rex, giving him warnings, though maintaining his anonymity. During the events of The Outpost, Crosshair fully defects, escaping with the 'body' of Mayday, fleeing to the hidden Tipoca City. Mayday is alive, but barely, and Kix is able to treat him. It takes a while, but Crosshair is re-integrated with his brothers, once again a part of the squad as they go out on missions, but always returning to New Tipoca City. As Crosshair did not need to be 'rescued,' the events of the finale did not occur, and as such Tech did not fall, and Omega is still safely with the batch.
T A T O O I N E
C O R U S C A N T
A L D E R A A N
K A M I N O
M U S T A F A R
Star Wars planets. Part 1
Still love em
Fives is Graceful and Clumsy AF
He either stumbles like a newborn foal
or is as smooth as flowing water.
There is no in-between. Seriously, look at this nerd. Flawless execution.
Fumbling dweeb.
He can dodge blasters like a pro
but can’t stay on his feet.
Do a barrel roll!
Even when he does land on his feet, he kind of flops over and needs help standing.
His close-range coordination is abysmal (baby where are you aiming exactly?). But he doesn’t always get decked in the face.
Sometimes he’s tripped and then gets decked in the face (he really needs to stop trying to punch commando droids).
He has better aim with his feet
except when he doesn’t
DO NOT TELL ME HE TRIPPED CUZ OF THE EXPLOSION he was well on his way to face-planting even before the detonator went off. Someone protect this panicky dork.
Bonus: “Deadeye” Hardcase taking care of Business™ while Fives flails like a drunken nuna.
(more Fives stuff)
Star Wars Republic Commando Intro Remake by Oleksandr Maziura
I've just come across this recently. This looks SO cool & incredibly detailed. If ANY OG Lucasarts Star Wars game deserves a remake, it's this gem of a video game, Star Wars Republic Commando (2005). Thank you so much Oleksandr Maziura for this Republic Commando Intro Remake.
In addition: Taun We's hand gesture was a really nice touch (showing her care & empathy towards Baby Boss). Also, after encountering that A-DSD Advanced Dwarf Spider Droid in the Training Simulator, I remember when playing the game I'd IMMEDIATELY toss a good ol' Detonator towards 'em, target 'em & then order ALL Squad Members to concentrate fire on THAT Target.
Back in the day I used to ❤️ using the Engage Target Command and see my Squad just unload their array of Blaster, Sniper & Anti-Armor rounds (in addition to their Thermal & EC (Electro-Static Charge) Detonators) while my Target's health just slowly drained away. Nothing beats Concentrated Firepower!
Star Wars Republic Commando (Released 02-28-2005)
"You have been born into dangerous times. A sharp mind can be the key to survival. But as often as not, it will be your inherent physical traits that win the day. And in this regard you will be superior to your more common brethren. For you are a Commando, an elite unit, something truly special."
-Kaminoan Taun We to Clone Commando-in-training Boss
❤️ this classic, dope video game. (And the novels, too.) Hard to believe this was released 20 yrs. ago. Would've been SO cool if we had a Remaster or even a Republic Commando II sequel.
❤️ when playing Republic Commando how whenever Boss (AKA Delta Squad Leader AKA RC-1138 AKA 38 AKA Clone Commando Sergeant Boss) drew his BlasTech Industries DC-15S pistol, he would always spin it - just like Jango Fett, Boba Fett, Captain Rex, etc.
Also ❤️ that right-to-left laser-wipe that would clear away icky fluids that splattered on your helmet's T-Visor after any close encounters with hostiles & your Armor's trusty Knuckle Plate Vibroblade.
A-A-AND also ❤️ discovering a Jedi's lightsaber aboard the assault ship The Prosecutor which led to this line from Boss: "An elegant weapon for a more civilized time, eh? Well, guess what? Times have changed…!"
It's little details like these that make the lore of Star Wars, Star Wars video games & the Star Wars universe so immersive & enjoyable.
Poor Sev.
Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor
Although the Phase-II Clone Trooper Armor always got a lot of love…The Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor was always the best design to me due to the Phase-I Armor's likeness to Jango Fett's Mandalorian Armor.
From the Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor. To the Phase-I Clone Commando Katarn-Class Armor. And especially the Phase-I ARC Trooper Armor with its numerous Mandalorian influences (Helmet mounted Rangefinder, Kama, Jetpacks, Wrist Rockets, etc.)
Phase-I Armor for the Win...!
Mandalorian Bounty Hunter Jango Fett & The Clones
Wanted to post this to show that during his origin story in the classic 2002 video game Star Wars Bounty Hunter, Jango Fett did indeed care about the Clones. Jango said he was "proud" of them; he even let this be known to his son Boba Fett.
(Unlike the in-universe narrative claiming Jango cared nothing about the Clones & the only Clone Jango ever cared about was Boba.)
In the following Cutscene Storyboards from Star Wars Bounty Hunter, Mandalorian Bounty Hunter (And Prime Clone Template) Jango Fett said his Clones were a damn fine Army, ready for battle. When Jango discussed this with Boba, Jango told him: "You shouldn't feel sorry for them. I don't. I feel…Proud."
And I❤️this from @fox-trot talking about Jango Fett & his concerns with the lives & treatment of the Clones….
Jango Fett consistently fought the Kaminoans over reconditioning/ decommissioning. In the early days he managed to convince the Kaminoans to change the expected standard, allowing for more leniency regarding deviations in physical appearance, speech patterns, behavior, temperament, etc. This saved many lives. He also regularly stepped in & rescued clones scheduled to be reconditioned for ‘aberrant’ behavior or mental health concerns. The Null ARCs & Delta Squad were saved from death because of his intervention. He also had a secret operation where he smuggled at-risk clones off of Kamino.
when i say the holy mother of all, i'm not talking about mary , shoutout to shaak ti !!
Proposal: The Kaminoans found Jango Fett to be a prime subject for cloning not only for his mental and physical prowess and training, but also because he was asexual and they wanted their army to not form relationships with civilians. They did not count on the fact that sexuality, much like M-count, cannot be replicated.
Thus leading to the abundance of hidden relationships formed throughout the clone ranks with Jedi, senators, and civies.
Asajj Ventress Concept Art (originally Sith Villain from Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones)
Jedi Hokusai ^^
“My Boys, My Warriors”
Clone Commanders x Reader (Platonic/Motherly) pt.1
Song: “Altamaha-Ha” – Olivier Devriviere & Stacey Subero
Setting: Kamino, pre-Clone Wars, training the clone commanders
A/N - I thought I would give the clones some motherly love because they absolutely deserve it.
⸻
Arrival
Kamino was a graveyard floating on water. Not one built from bones or tombstones, but of silence and steel, of sterile white walls and cloned futures.
You arrived at dawn—or what passed for dawn here, beneath an endless, thunderstruck sky. The rain hit your Beskar like a thousand tiny fists, relentless and cold. There was no welcome party. No ceremony. Just a hangar platform soaked in wind and spray, and one familiar silhouette waiting for you like a ghost from your past.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” Jango Fett said, arms crossed, armor dulled by salt and time.
“You asked,” you answered, stepping off the transport. “And Mandalorians don’t abandon their own.”
He gave a small, tired nod. “This place… it’s not what I wanted it to be.”
You followed him through the elevated corridors, your bootfalls echoing alongside his. You passed clone infants in incubation pods—unmoving, unaware—lined up like products, not people. Your throat tightened.
“Kaminoans see them as assets,” he muttered. “Nothing more.”
You scowled. “And you?”
Jango didn’t answer.
You didn’t need him to. That was why you were here.
⸻
Training the Future Commanders
They were just boys.
Tiny, sharp-eyed, disciplined—but boys nonetheless. They saluted when they saw you, confused by your armor, your presence, your refusal to speak in the Kaminoan-approved tone.
“Are you another handler?” one asked—Cody, maybe, even then with that skeptical glare.
“No,” you replied, removing your helmet, letting your war-worn face meet theirs. “I’m a warrior. And I’m here to make you warriors. The kind Kamino can’t mold. The kind no one can break.”
At first, they didn’t trust you. Fox flinched when you corrected his form. Bly mimicked your movements but refused eye contact. Rex tried to impress you too much, like a pup desperate to please.
But over time, that changed.
You didn’t teach them like the Kaminoans did. You taught them like they mattered. Every mistake was a lesson. Every success, a celebration. You learned their quirks—how Wolffe grumbled when he was nervous, how Cody chewed the inside of his cheek when strategizing, how Bly stared too long at the sky, longing for something even he couldn’t name.
They grew under your care. They grew into theirs.
And somewhere along the line, the title changed.
“Buir,” Rex said one day, barely a whisper.
You froze.
“Sorry,” he added quickly, flustered. “I didn’t mean—”
But you crouched and ruffled his hair, voice thick. “No. I like it.”
After that, the name stuck.
⸻
The Way You Loved Them
You taught them how to fight, yes. But also how to think, how to feel. You made them memorize the stars, not just coordinates. You forced them to sit in circles and talk when they lost a training sim—why they failed, what it meant.
“You are not cannon fodder,” you said once, your voice carrying through the sparring hall. “You are sons of Mandalore. You are mine. You will not die for a Republic that won’t mourn you. You will survive. Together.”
They believed you. And because they believed, they began to believe in themselves.
⸻
Singing in the Dark
Late at night, when the Kaminoans powered down the lights and the labs buzzed quiet, you slipped into the barracks. They were small again in those moments—curled under grey blankets, limbs tangled, some still holding training rifles in their sleep.
You never planned to sing. It started one night when Bly woke from a nightmare, gasping for air, tears clinging to his lashes. You held him, like a child—because he was one—and without thinking, you sang.
“Slumber, child, slumber, and dream, dream, dream
Let the river carry you back to me
Dream, my baby, 'cause
Mama will be there in the mornin'”
The melody, foreign and low, drifted over the bunks like a lullaby born from the sea itself. It wasn’t Mandalorian. It was older. From your mother, perhaps, or her mother before her. It didn’t matter.
Soon, the others began to stir at the sound—some sitting up, listening. Some quietly pretending to still be asleep.
You sang to them until the rain outside became less frightening. Until their eyes closed again.
And after that, you kept doing it.
⸻
The Warning
“Don’t get in their way,” Jango warned one night as you stood by the viewing glass, watching your boys spar in the simulator below. “The Kaminoans. They won’t like it.”
“They already don’t,” you muttered. “I’ve seen the way they talk about them. Subjects. Tests. Like they’re things.”
“They are things to them,” he said. “And if you make too much noise, you’ll be the next thing they discard.”
You turned to face him, cold fury in your chest. “Then let them try.”
He didn’t push further. Maybe because he knew—deep down—he couldn’t stop you either.
⸻
Kamino was all rain and repetition. It pounded the platform windows like war drums, never letting up, a constant rhythm that seeped into the bones. But inside the training complex, your boys—your commanders—were becoming weapons. And they were doing it with teeth bared.
You ran them hard. Harder than the Kaminoans would’ve allowed. You forced them to fight one-on-one until they bled, then patch each other up. You made them run drills in full gear until even Fox, the most stubborn of them, nearly passed out. But you also cooked for them when they succeeded. You gave them downtime when they earned it. You let them joke, laugh, fight like brothers.
And they were brothers. Every one of them.
“You hit like a Jawa,” Neyo grunted, dodging a blow from Bacara.
“At least I don’t look like one,” Bacara shot back, swinging his training staff with a grunt.
The others laughed from the sidelines. Cody leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking. Rex and Fox were trading bets in whispers.
“Credits on Neyo,” Bly muttered, grinning. “He’s wiry.”
“You’re all idiots,” Wolffe growled. “Bacara’s been waiting to punch him since last week.”
You let them have their moment. You sat on the edge of the platform, helmet off, watching them like a mother bird daring anyone to touch her nest.
The sparring match turned fast. Bacara landed a hit to Neyo’s ribs—but Neyo pivoted and brought his staff down hard across Bacara’s knee. There was a loud crack. Bacara cried out and dropped.
The laughter died.
You were at his side in an instant, shouting for a med droid even as you crouched beside him, checking his leg. His face was twisted in pain, jaw clenched to keep from crying out again.
“It’s just a fracture,” the Kaminoan tech said from above, indifferent. “He’ll heal.”
You glared up at them. “He’s not just a number. He’s a kid.”
“They are not—”
“He is mine,” you snapped, standing between Bacara and the tech. “And if I hear one more word from your sterile little mouth, I will see how fast you bleed.”
The Kaminoan backed away.
You turned back to Bacara, softer now. Your hand brushed the sweat from his brow.
“Deep breaths, cyar’ika. You’re alright.”
He tried to speak, teeth gritted. “I’m—fine.”
“No, you’re not,” you said gently, voice warm but firm. “And you don’t have to pretend for me.”
The other boys were quiet. They had seen broken bones, sure. But not softness like this. Not someone kneeling beside one of them with care in her eyes.
You stayed by Bacara’s side while the medics patched him up. You held his hand when they set the bone, and he let you.
Later, when he was tucked into his bunk with his leg in a brace, you sat beside him and hummed. Just softly. The rain tapping the window, your voice somewhere between a lullaby and a promise.
He didn’t cry. But he did sleep.
⸻
You didn’t just teach them how to fight. You taught them how to live—how to survive.
You made them argue tactical problems around a dinner table. You made them learn each other’s tells—so they could watch each other’s backs on the battlefield. You made them memorize where the Kaminoans kept the override chips, in case something ever went wrong.
You never said why, but they trusted you.
And sometimes, they’d tease one another just to make you laugh.
“You’re so slow, Wolffe,” Bly groaned, flopping onto the floor after a run. “It’s like watching a Star Destroyer try to jog.”
“You want to say that to my face?” Wolffe growled, looming.
“No thanks,” Bly wheezed. “My ribs still remember last week.”
Fox tossed him a ration bar. “Eat up, drama queen.”
Rex smirked. “You’re all mouth, Fox.”
“I will end you, rookie.”
“Boys,” you interrupted, raising a brow. “If you have enough energy to whine, I clearly didn’t run you hard enough.”
Groans. Laughter. Playful swearing.
“Ten more laps,” you added, smiling.
Cries of “Nooo, buir!” echoed down the corridor.
⸻
When You Sang
Sometimes they asked for it. Sometimes they didn’t need to.
The song came when things were too quiet—after a nightmare, after a long day, after they’d lost a spar or a brother.
You’d walk between their bunks, singing low as the rain hit the glass.
“Last night under bright strange stars
We left behind the men that caged you and me
Runnin' toward a promise land
Mama will be there in the mornin'”
They’d pretend not to be listening. But you’d see it—the way Rex’s fists unclenched, how Neyo’s brow relaxed, how Wolffe finally let himself close his eyes.
You knew, deep down, you were raising boys for slaughter.
But you’d be damned if they didn’t feel loved before they went.
⸻
The sterile corridors of Tipoca City echoed beneath your boots. Even when the halls were silent, you could feel the Kaminoans’ eyes—watchful, cold, and calculating. They didn’t like you here. Not anymore.
When you’d first arrived, brought in under Jango’s word and credentials, they’d accepted your presence as a utility—an expert warrior to train the Alpha batch. But lately? You were a complication. You cared too much.
And they didn’t like complications.
⸻
The Meeting
You stood at attention in front of Lama Su and Taun We. The pale lights above made your armor gleam. You didn’t bow. You didn’t smile.
“You were observed interfering with medical protocol,” Lama Su said, his voice devoid of emotion. “This is not within your designated parameters.”
“One of my boys was hurt,” you said flatly.
“He is a clone. Replaceable. As they all are.”
Your fists curled at your sides.
“Do not forget your role,” Lama Su continued. “Your methods are not standard. Excessive independence. Emotional entanglement. Your presence disrupts efficiency.”
You stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. “You want soldiers who’ll die for you. I’m giving you soldiers who’ll choose to fight. There’s a difference. One that matters.”
There was a pause, then:
“You were not created for this program,” Lama Su said with quiet disapproval. “Do not overestimate your position.”
You didn’t respond.
You simply turned and walked out.
⸻
He was waiting for you in the observation room overlooking Training Sector 3. The boys were down there—Cody and Fox were running scenario drills, Rex was lining up shots on a target range, Bly was tossing insults at Neyo while dodging training droids.
They didn’t see you. But watching them moved something fierce and dangerous in your chest.
Jango spoke without looking at you. “They’re getting strong.”
“They’re getting better,” you corrected.
He turned to face you, arms folded, helm clipped to his belt. “You’re making them soft.”
You scoffed. “You don’t believe that.”
A beat. “No,” he admitted. “But the Kaminoans do.”
You shrugged. “Let them.”
“You’re pissing them off.”
You turned your head, met his gaze with something sharp and sad in your eyes. “They treat these kids like hardware. Tools. Like you’re the only one who matters.”
“I am the template,” he said, with a ghost of a smile.
“They’re more than your copies,” you said. “They’re people.”
Jango studied you for a long moment. Then his voice dropped. “They’re going to start pushing back, ner vod. On you. Hard.”
You looked back down at the boys. Bacara was limping slightly—still healing—but still trying to prove himself.
You exhaled slowly, then said, “I’m not leaving.”
“They’ll make you.”
“Not until they’re ready.”
Jango shook his head. “That might never happen.”
You glanced at him. “Then I guess I’m staying forever.”
⸻
That night, you sang again.
You walked through the bunks, slow and steady. The boys were half-asleep—worn out from drills, bandaged, bruised, but safe. Their expressions softened when you passed by. Neyo, usually tense, had his arms thrown over his head in peaceful surrender. Bly was snoring into his pillow. Bacara’s fingers were still wrapped around the edge of his blanket, leg elevated, but his face was calm.
You stood at the center of the dorm, lowered your voice, and sang like the sea itself had whispered the melody to you.
“Trust nothin' and no one in this strange, strange land
Be a mouse and do not use your voice
River tore us apart, but I'm not too far 'cause
Mama will be there in thе mornin'”
Somewhere behind you, a voice murmured, “We’re glad you didn’t leave, buir.”
You didn’t turn to see who said it.
You just kept singing.
⸻
They didn’t even look you in the eye when they handed you the dismissal.
Lama Su’s voice was as flat and clinical as ever. “Your assignment to the training program is concluded, effective immediately. A transport will arrive within the hour.”
No discussion. No room for argument. Just sterile words and sterile reasoning.
“Why?” you asked, though you already knew.
Taun We’s expression didn’t change. “Your attachment to the clones is counterproductive. It encourages instability. Disobedience.”
You laughed bitterly. “Disobedience? They’d die for you, and you don’t even know their names.”
“You’ve served your purpose.”
You stepped forward. “No. I haven’t. They’re not ready.”
“They are sufficient for combat deployment.”
You stared at them, ice in your veins. “Sufficient,” you repeated. “You mean disposable.”
“You are dismissed.”
⸻
You packed slowly.
Your hands were steady, but your heart roared like it used to back on Mandalore, in the heart of battle. That same ache. That same helplessness, standing in front of something too big to fight, and realizing you still had to try.
You left behind your bunk, your wall of messy holos and scraps of training reports scrawled in shorthand. You left behind a half-written lullaby tucked under your cot. But you took your armor.
You always took your armor.
You were nearly done when a voice cut through the door.
“Can I come in?”
It was Cody.
You didn’t turn around. “Door’s open.”
He stepped in quietly, glancing around the room like it was sacred ground. You saw his hands twitch slightly—he never fidgeted. But tonight, he was restless.
“They told us you were leaving,” he said, almost like it wasn’t real until he said it out loud. “Why?”
“Because I care too much,” you said simply.
Cody sat down on your footlocker, elbows on his knees. His eyes were dark, searching.
“What happens to us now?”
You finally looked at him. Really looked. He was trying to hold it together. He always had to—he was the eldest in a way, the natural leader. But underneath it, you saw the boy. The child.
“Are we ready?” he asked.
You walked over and sat beside him, your shoulder brushing his.
“No,” you said. “You’re not.”
That hit him harder than comfort might have.
“But,” you added, “you’re as ready as you can be. You’ve got the training. The instincts. You’ve got each other.”
Cody was quiet for a long time. Then, softly: “I’m scared.”
You nodded. “Good. So was I. Every time I stepped onto a battlefield, I was scared.”
His eyes flicked to you in surprise.
You gave a soft huff of breath. “You think Mandalorians don’t feel fear? We feel it more. We just learn to carry it.”
He looked down. “What was your war like?”
You leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling.
“I fought on the burning sands of Sundari’s borders, in the mines, the wastelands. I’ve lost friends to blade and blaster, to poison and betrayal. I’ve heard the war drums shake the skies and still gone forward, knowing I’d never see the next sunrise. And when it was over…” You paused, bitter. “The warriors were banished.”
Cody frowned. “Banished?”
You nodded. “The new regime—pacifists. Duchess Satine. She took the throne, and we were cast off. Sent to the moon. All the heroes of Mandalore… left behind like rusted armor.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” you agreed. “But that’s war. You don’t always get a homecoming.”
He was silent, digesting it.
Then you said, more gently, “But you do get to decide who you are in it. And after it. If there’s an after.”
Cody’s voice cracked just a little. “You were our home.”
You turned to him, and for the first time, let him see the tears brimming in your eyes. “You still are.”
You pulled him into a hug—tight, armor creaking, like the world might tear you both apart if you let go.
⸻
You walked through the training hall one last time. Your boys were all there, lined up, watching you.
Silent.
Even the Kaminoans didn’t stop you from speaking.
You met each pair of eyes—Wolffe, Fox, Rex, Bacara, Neyo, Bly, Cody.
“My warriors,” you said softly, “you were never mine to keep. But you were mine to love. And you still are.”
You stepped forward, placed your hand on Cody’s shoulder, then moved down the line, touching each one like a prayer.
“Be strong. Be smart. Be good to each other. And remember: no matter what anyone says… you are not property. You are brothers.”
You left without turning back.
Because if you did—you wouldn’t have left at all.
Part 2