Setting: Abandoned Death Watch Outpost, Kara Vale – Just Before Sunrise
The Fire Between Them
Date: 25BBY
The crackle of the low-burning fire pit lit the outpost in soft orange glow. Cain, Anakin, and Serra stood beneath the scorched sigil of an old Mandalorian war banner. Across from them stood Bo-Katan Kryze, flanked by armored warriors, visor lifted, arms crossed.
She eyed them sharply, voice low and rough with skepticism.
"Who even are you?" she asked. "Three kids sneaking into an outpost like ghosts, spouting philosophy like senators. What do you think you know about the galaxy? Or Mandalore?"
Cain stepped forward. Calm. Still.
"More than you think. Enough to know that Mandalore is more than just warriors who want to die with a blade in their hand."
Bo's expression sharpened. "And what's wrong with living and dying like a true Mandalorian?"
Cain didn't flinch.
"Nothing. But it's not everything, either."
The fire flickered. He went on.
"Your people have honor, Bo-Katan. You have codes. Clan traditions. Loyalty. Justice. You're more than just fighters. You're protectors. You're meant to rise against injustice, not serve it."
Bo's brow lowered. "Protect? Is that what your Republic says? Is that what your Council told you to sell me?"
Cain's eyes flared gold, voice firmer.
"No. Because the Jedi aren't who they used to be."
Bo stepped closer. "So the Council's hound admits it. You serve a broken order. You know the Republic is corrupt."
Cain nodded without hesitation.
"We see it. All three of us. The Jedi have drifted. The Council closes its eyes to the rot. They deny feelings, ignore slavery, let injustice pass if it's convenient."
He turned, locking eyes with Anakin.
"This is Anakin Skywalker. He was born a slave. He was freed because one great man saw his light. But when he was brought to the Jedi Temple, the Council nearly turned him away. Said he was too old."
Cain's voice dropped.
"Not too weak. Not too cruel. Too old. That's what they feared."
Bo's sharp gaze shifted to Anakin, lips parted in surprise.
"…Is that true?"
Anakin nodded, slowly. "Every word."
"I was nine," he said. "They saw I had power. That I was strong in the Force. But all they could see was that I didn't fit their mold. They wanted tools. Not people."
Bo's stare lingered on him for a long beat.
Then she turned back to Cain.
"So what are you? Another tool? Another soft pacifist like Satine?"
Cain's expression turned calm… but resolute.
"No. I don't believe in total pacifism. I believe in unity. In peace where it can exist, and war when it must be fought. But not war against each other. Not against your own people. Not against the Jedi because of their failings."
He took a step closer. No fear in his voice.
"I know what Pre Vizsla wants. He's not fighting for Mandalore. He's fighting for his ego. He wants to bring back a past that died for a reason."
Bo's jaw clenched.
Cain raised his hand slowly—open palm facing her.
"But you… you don't have to be Satine. And you don't have to be Pre."
"You can be better."
He took one more step.
"If you let me, I'll show you a third path. Your path. One where Mandalore survives—stronger than either of them ever dreamed."
Bo looked at him.
Not as a child.
But as a storm she didn't yet understand.
She didn't reach for her weapon.
She didn't laugh.
She simply stood there—fingers twitching slightly at her side, jaw tense, and staring at Cain's outstretched hand.