Work Text:
CHAPTER 1: Night in Keldabe
Night fell quickly in Keldabe. The dark streets, once bright and full of life, had become scenario of desolation and despair. The stench of old death could be smelt at practically any point of the city, as corpses of warriors and civilians piled up on sidewalks, parks and squares. The death toll was so enormous that, despite their best efforts, relief crews were not able to remove the dead from the streets before a new stack emerged following a night of bloodshed.
Insurgent groups led by the Death Watch gained ground by the day, and the population grew dissatisfied with the new government, which seemed to be doing very little to contain the widespread violence and oppression that was throwing the system into indomitable chaos.
Adonai Kryze stood at the balcony of the Kryze Castle looking over the large square where masses of people used to come in to demonstrate their support for their new leader. The hope and dreams that reverberated through the space, touching the hearts of those who were present had long given place to sadness and fear. During such popular demonstrations, the Duke himself stood on that very balcony, addressing the people through impassioned speeches on his pacifist views and dreams of a new Mandalorian society.
“A thousand systems for your thoughts,” somebody called out from behind the Duke.
He turned his head only to find his daughter standing by the large transparisteel doors. Satine Kryze was his oldest daughter and heir to the throne. Tall and athletic, she had been trained from an early age in the art of battle, becoming a proficient beskad fighter and a skilled military strategist. At the age of fifteen, she was sent to the Inner Core to undergo diplomacy and statecraft training at the renowned Diplomacy Institute in Coruscant. The Duke himself also made sure to personally educate his daughter, instilling in her his most valuable beliefs.
Upon seeing his daughter, the Duke curled his lips up into a small smile, gazing at his feet. “Do you remember, Sat”ika, when we used to stand here together to greet the people? They were so many and there was so much hope in their eyes, so much optimism. Where did it all go? The joy, the hope, the chanting?”
Satine listened to her father and memories flowed through her mind like a crystalline river as he spoke. His words evoked echoes from a glorious past that had taken him decades to build, but that was brought down by his enemies in a flash.
He continued, “I will always remember when you came to age, and you and I stood before thousands of citizens, and they all sang songs about victory and glory. And they called your name. That day, I became certain that when my time came to depart to the Manda, you would be the one they all would embrace as their Mand'Alor. I felt at peace.”
Satine remembered that day. And she remembered many, many others in which her father was hailed as the ‘Savior of Mandalore’, ‘the true Mand'Alor’, and a faint smile formed in her face. “I remember it all, buir.” She approached the front edge of the balustrade, resting both her hands on it. She sighed, “I believe that it is not over yet. There is still hope. The people still believe in you. Like I do.”
As idealistic as he seemed, the Duke's eloquence and charismatic personality attracted the attention of millions across the system. His words sparked in their hearts the desire for a peaceful world, the desire to abandon the old ways that had so far led to the destruction of their world. Millions had perished as ‘the way of the warrior’ went on for over many millennia, benefiting warlords who profited not only from the spoils of victory, but also from shady relations with local and foreign gangs and mercenaries.
Kill or be killed – this is the way. The mantra that was passed on from generation to generation of children who were bred for a life of warfare did not resonate with the Duke. There was no more room for brutality in a world that had almost entirely succumbed to the impacts of war. As Mand’Alor, he dreamed of building a world that could prosper and establish itself as an independent and self-sufficient system, keeping itself free from the claws of the Republic. Peace was the solution to keep sleazy politicians out of Mandalorian affairs.
Satine watched as her father scanned the Castle's square. “I know we have all seen better times than these, buir,” she said regretfully, noticing his sad expression. “But we cannot let this bring us down,” she concluded, gesturing towards the square. “Oh, and about the meeting,” she continued, “we are ready when you are.”
He nodded. “Give me a moment, Sat’ika. I will be with you shortly.”
She bowed respectfully and went back inside.
The Duke stood alone for a moment. He moved his weary eyes from side to side, taking in every detail of the land that seemed to be crumbling within his grasp. The more he tried to hold on to it, the more it crumbled, escaping his grip through the crevices of his hands.
He turned his attention away from the square, becoming lost in space, unfocused and abstracted. For a moment, he wished he could just disappear. Maybe getting sucked into outer space isn’t too much of a bad idea after all, he thought with a disheartened smirk. With a deep breath, he turned around, leaving the balcony and entering the large conference room.
He moved slowly, dragging his feet under him with no real intent. His beskar'gam felt heavy on his body, adding to the weight he was already carrying on his shoulders. The weight of a whole system, he thought, now spiriling into an abyss that I dug with my own hands.
Guilt permeated his heart and his mind felt foggy. But there was no time for the weaknesses of the body or the spirit—it was time to act.
Lifting his head high, he stepped into the room. Faces turned towards him as he approached, one step at a time. His small council, made up of only a handful of his most trusted people, was present for this emergency meeting: the head of security and intelligence General Davu Golec, Chancellor Dral Taabir, the Prime Minister’s assistant Sarai Kaab, and his daughters, Princesses Satine and Bo-Katan Kryze.
The Duke scanned the room. “Where is Master Almec?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“He sends his apologies, Your Grace, but he had to attend to some urgent matters and will not be attending this meeting,” Sarai said apologetically.
“More urgent than this?” the Duke said, moving his hands from side to side with outrage.
“This is preposterous!” Bo screeched, hitting the table with an open hand.
The Duke turned his attention to Bo. She was younger than Satine by one year and a half. The most impulsive of the sisters, she was outspoken and strong headed. Her bright green gaze seemed in a constant state of watch, as it darted from one side of the room to the other, from face to face, taking in every detail of everything that came into sight. Her short, red hair made her look older than she was, accentuating her sharp features. The way she carried herself, always dressed in her beskar'gam, spoke of her fierce personality and unshakable beliefs.
At sixteen, she called herself a daughter of warriors, incorporating the creed that she had taken years prior in every step she took; she was a proponent of tradition, pride, honour and glory. Her father's idealism, much to the Duke's displeasure, did not have the same effect on her that it had on her sister. For her, giving up the old ways meant giving up one's identity, which meant to become dar'manda, unworthy of carrying on her heritage: a fate worse than death, by all standards. “I hope the Prime Minister can come up with a very good excuse for this. This is absolutely insulting, to say the least,” she said, crossing her arms angrily.
General Golec looked around at their small gathering. “Regardless of his absence, I suggest we get to it as time is not exactly on our side.”
“Very well,” the Duke said taking his place at the head of the table. His stern face drooping with every passing second.
Satine sat at the right side of the table across from Bo. The General had his seat immediately beside Satine, across from Sarai. The Chancellor positioned himself at the end of the table, across from the Duke. The Prime Minister's seat was, of course, empty. The Duke glanced at it for a moment, narrowing his eyes. This is odd, he thought, frowning at the empty space at the table.
Satine and Bo locked eyes for a moment, then quickly turned their faces to look at their father. The girls had been at odds since the Death Watch started its offensive against the government's forces. The Duke knew that Bo disapproved of the violence infringed on the masses, but he was also aware that she openly supported the notion that he should engage in negotiations with the clans that have turned their backs on their house, pledging themselves to the enemy. On the other hand, he had Satine who fiercely supported his stance that negotiations could not be held with traitors, as it was a sign of weakness and lack of conviction. To the Duke's knowledge, losing support of most of their house’s vassal clans was already bad enough. Now, losing popular support was equivalent to political suicide.
The Duke was startled out of his reverie by General Golec.
“Your Grace, although I wish I could be the carrier of more encouraging news, I am afraid that today it is just not possible,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “And for the sake of all of us, I must speak plainly.” He sighed, looking down at the table and shaking his head slightly, “There is no other way to put this. Your Grace, honourable members of this council –” He breathed in hard. “We are being crushed,” he concluded. His face was covered with regret, and he seemed unable to bring himself to look at the Duke in the eye.
The Duke’s heart dropped, and he glanced at Satine. He watched her as her face grew pale. She turned her head to look at him expectantly. His green eyes grew dark, and his expression became somber. He moved his body forward slightly, resting both forearms on the table, clasping his hands together. “Go on,” he said with a stern expression on his face.
“Desertion is a reality we're dealing with daily. The soldiers who remain loyal to you, Your Grace, are growing hopeless. We're losing ground as we speak, and we have lost Bralsin and Shuror. Enceri is under siege and Keldabe is holding on by a thread. I do not know how much longer we can resist invasion.” He paused, took a breath and continued, “the forces that were located at the outskirts of the city are outnumbered and unfortunately, it's just a matter of time until the insurgents get past the river, into the heart of the city and into palace grounds.”
Sarai’s fingers moved deftly over the keys of her datapad, taking note of every word that was being said. She lifted her head and looked at the general, waiting for him to proceed.
“Your Grace,” the General said solemnly, “I know it's not my place, but with all due respect, I suggest we resume our negotiations with the clans. I am now speaking on behalf of my men. Of your men, Your Grace, who are falling like flies on the battlefield. There's no more room for resistance,” he concluded. His face showed signs of the uttermost worry which had taken over his life since the beginning of the war. His beskar'gam looked equally tired and overworn, scratched and dull from many, many days spent on the battlefield alongside his troops, rain or shine.
The Chancellor, an old man with grey hair and beady eyes, lifted his small and squalid frame from his chair. He looked at the Duke straight in the eye and started speaking. His voice was calm, paced, but firm.
“Your Grace, in all these years that I have served you, I have never imagined it would come to this. The time has come to leave our differences with the Elders behind and to try and find a common ground where we can all stand. Alive, preferably.”
The Duke nodded slightly with his gaze fixed on his hands. He took a deep breath, lifting his head to look at the high, vaulted ceiling. “So, it has been settled. Summon the Elders from each clan. Let's hear their conditions,” he said with a tone of resignation rather than conviction.
“Buir!” Satine exclaimed with a high-pitched voice. “This cannot be! It cannot happen! You must not concede! The Elders are corrupt. They have pledged themselves to House Vizla and the Death Watch. They are aruetiise, for the gods’ sakes! If you concede, we will lose. They will kill us. They will kill each one of us and whoever stood by our side all this time.” She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply through her nose. “Everything that you fought for, that we fought for will be forever lost. Your legacy will be destroyed. You, we…” she said, searching for her father’s eyes with her own, “…we cannot let this happen.”
“And how do you suggest we do that, Princess?” Bo challenged. “Are you deaf? Have you not heard a single word that has been said? The chances of all of us dying if buir doesn't concede are far greater than if we try to negotiate.”
Satine looked at her sister in disbelief. “Don't be naïve! There's no negotiating with those people!” She narrowed her eyes at Bo, her face turning red, her arms flaying aimlessly and her voice rising as she spoke. “Stupid girl!” Satine yelled. “As long as buir is alive, he is a threat to whatever efforts they make to have Vizla ascend to the throne. As long as we are alive, they will be nothing but traitors trying to usurp buir's power. They have absolutely no right—”
“Right? You make me laugh! What right?” Bo hissed through clenched teeth. “You think they care about this… detail? If you want to see buir's head on a spike, go right ahead, sister. But I am not going to live to see that happen.”
Before Satine could reply, the Duke hit the top of the table with a closed fist. The thud noise it made was loud enough to make Sarai, who had her eyes on the datapad, jump on her seat.
Satine shook her head nervously. “Father—”
“That's enough from the two of you!” the Duke said with a thundering voice. He furrowed his brows and stared at both his daughters. “Not one single word from your mouths. As far as I know, I am still Mand’Alor. I am still in charge, and I will not tolerate disrespect from anyone, let alone from my own daughters. The final word is still mine,” he said, lowering his voice and steadying his breath.
“Master Golec,” he said, looking at the General.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Call a ceasefire and summon the Elders. We must gather the whole council for a general conference.”
“Yes, sire,” The general said, bowing respectfully.
Satine sprang up from her seat, indignant. “You are inviting the devil into your own house! They are all aruetiise and you want to break bread with them? Can't you see? This is a mistake for which we will all pay dearly. I cannot corroborate. I cannot,” she said, shaking her head furiously.
“Satine! I said it is enough!” the Duke said, widening his eyes at his daughter. “You disappoint me.” He lowered his voice. “After all these years that I personally spent preparing you, I expected you to be, at least, more sensible. Wiser, even. But I can see I have failed,” he said bitterly. “I never once took you for a spoiled brat.”
“And I never took you for a coward,” Satine shot at him, setting her jaw and fighting back the tears that were forming in her eyes.
The Duke's face softened, and sadness took over his eyes. His mouth fell agape as his brows lifted wrinkling the skin on his forehead. He watched as his daughter turned her back at him, dashing out of the room.
——————————————
Satine was shocked. She was furious. She turned on her heels and darted towards the tall doors on the opposite side of the room. She left, slamming the heavy doors behind her. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she tried hard not to let them run down her face, but it was to no avail. She walked fast down the hallway looking for a place to go – to hide – and disappear. Her heart beat fast and the fear of what was to come was overwhelming.
“Satine!” a voice called behind her. It was General Golec. “Satine, please don't—”
As she turned to look at him, a loud blast was heard through the building. So loud and so powerful it felt as though it happened inside of her own body. As confusion set in, everything seemed to happen in slow motion—the heavy doors of the conference room flying off their hinges, hitting the wall across the corridor and shattering into pieces. The dark cloud of smoke and dust rising and filling the place with its heat. The General hitting the wall and falling to the floor, disappearing under a dark curtain of hot fumes.
Before she could make sense of what had happened, another blast, this time, outside. The sturdy walls shook as glass and transparisteel flew across the air, sharp and mortal, like arrows shot to kill.
Screams. The loud shuffling of feet. Panic.
Satine took touched her head as blood ran down her face, hot and thick. It all was so… unreal. Her vision was blurred, and her ears were ringing. Somehow, she was on the floor, lying on her side, but she had no memory of falling. Her head hurt tremendously. “What in all the hells has just happened?” she murmured, as she opened her eyes trying to see something—anything—but the dense smoke blinded her with its heat. She gagged and coughed, and everything was spinning. At once, she felt a pair of strong hands grabbing her firmly by the shoulders.
“Satine! Can you hear me?” General Golec called.
She was so stunned by it all that she could not respond.
“Satine!” He shook her to get her out of her stupor. “We must move!” He commanded.
She nodded, trying to get on her feet.
He grabbed her wrist with a firm grip. “This way!” he ordered, dragging her through the corridors and down a flight of stairs that was filled with debris. More explosions could be heard, inside and outside, followed by screams and cries that echoed through the castle.
Satine stumbled, tripping over her own feet as she tried to keep up with the General. Her legs moved, but they did not feel like her own; they felt sluggish and heavy. Blood dripped from her head into her eyes, making it hard to see as it stuck to her lashes. Her breathing was heavy, and she felt as though she would pass out.
The General ushered her into the study, shutting the tall and heavy doors, locking them down behind him. The study was spacious, with two tall and narrow curtained windows separating the three wide and heavy looking bookshelves. There was a round table at the centre of the room with two chairs on each side of it.
The explosions were still going full force in the palace grounds, casting an eerie orange glow within the room. The General moved quickly across the large space with wide strides, halting in front of one of the bookshelves. He reached for one of the books, pulling it out of its place. He stuck his arm in the gap where the book had been, reaching deeply. A loud clicking sound came from within the wall, and the bookshelf moved forward towards Satine and the General, slightly away from the wall behind it. The General quickly inserted himself in the newly formed gap between the back of the bookcase and the wall, as a small screen glowed just ahead of him. Satine followed him into the narrow gap, so narrow that made her feel claustrophobic. He stared at the small screen and a small blueish laser beam flashed illuminating his face.
Face recognition, Satine thought.
A small door opened with a hiss, giving way to a very short and narrow passage, and the General quickly bent over, getting himself into the passage. He wrapped his hand around Satine's wrist, pulling her in at once as the door closed, locking itself behind them.
Her heart was beating fast with adrenaline that was flowing through her veins. Holding her breath, she took one step after the other, crossing the threshold into the void of darkness.