Setting: Abandoned Outpost – Just Before Sunrise
Steel and Firelight
The tension was thick. The fire between them crackled low, casting shadows across the broken stone.
Bo-Katan Kryze stepped forward. Her expression was colder now—guarded but intense. Her tone sharp as durasteel.
"You speak like you know us. Like you know me. But tell me something, Jedi."
She took another step, armor gleaming in orange light.
"Where were your kind when we burned? When Mandalore bled under your so-called peace?"
Cain met her gaze, steady.
She didn't wait.
"Do you know the Mandalorian Crusades? When our people carved out empires only to be slaughtered by your precious Republic and its Jedi dogs?"
Cain nodded once.
"I've studied them."
Bo's voice rose.
"Do you remember the Mandalorian Wars? When Revan—one of yours—rallied Jedi to wage genocide against us in the name of justice? When he shattered clans, burned homes, and poisoned our children with Jedi arrogance?"
Cain's lips thinned but he didn't look away.
"And the Mandalorian Excision?" Bo snarled. "When your Order ordered the complete extermination of our warrior culture. When Mandalorian cities were flattened. Archives erased. Our entire identity targeted—because you feared what we stood for?"
Cain let the words settle. Let the pain behind them ring.
Then he spoke—calm, direct.
"You're right."
Bo blinked.
Cain stepped forward, into the firelight.
"I know about the Crusades. The Wars. The Excision. I know that Revan, a Jedi, became the monster you feared—and then later tried to stop it. I know the Republic and Jedi Council saw power they didn't understand and chose fear."
He let that settle before continuing.
"But I also know this… that past doesn't have to be your future."
Bo scowled. "And what do you know about Pre Vizsla? Hm? What does a child know about someone like him?"
Cain's golden eyes flared in the firelight.
"I know he talks about honor, but builds his power in shadows like a coward. I know he doesn't gather warriors in the open—but whispers in caves, poisons the minds of clans with words of glory and fear, but never action that builds anything."
He stepped closer again.
"I know he wants to drag Mandalore into a grave and call it tradition."
Bo said nothing. Her jaw clenched.
Cain tilted his head, voice softer now—piercing.
"Tell me, Bo. What does Death Watch do for the weak? For the starving? For the slaves?"
Her breath caught.
Cain pressed.
"You say you want strength. You say you want Mandalore to rise. Then rise for someone. Free the oppressed. Shelter those who can't protect themselves. Don't just fight for blood and clan—fight for those who have no one."
"You want an enemy? You have many. Corrupt nobles. Slavers. Syndicates. A galactic empire in the making. Pick one. Not your sister. Not your people."
Bo's hands clenched into fists, armored gloves creaking.
Cain's voice dropped low—calm and final.
"Should we—children—do the job you adults won't?"
He turned slightly, gesturing to Anakin, a former slave. To Serra, born from a bloodline scarred by Jedi war.
"Or will you do what a true Mand'alor would?"
He took one final step forward. Eyes like suns. Voice like thunder wrapped in silk.
"Will you take the Darksaber… kill Pre Vizsla… unite your people as protectors, not tyrants?"
He raised his hand once again.
"Or will I have to?"
The Silence Before the Shift
Bo-Katan didn't move.
Not away. Not forward.
The silence stretched. The fire cracked low.
Then… she looked at Cain's hand.
Not with dismissal.
But with conflict.
With something raw.
Her voice, when it came, was not sharp. Not loud.
"…You speak like you've lived this twice."
Cain smiled, just barely.
Because I have.