U N B R O K E N
The forest never truly went quiet on Yaga Minor.
Even now, with the convoy pushing slowly through the old logging paths, I could hear it around us constantly. Wind moving through massive canopies overhead. Water dripping from leaves still soaked from the morning rain. The distant groaning creak of ancient trees shifting somewhere deeper beyond the road. Every now and then the low rumble of engines broke through the natural sounds as transport haulers struggled through mud and uneven terrain carrying what little remained of civilian lives.
Furniture. Crates. Tools. Scrap metal.
Everything people decided was important enough to carry forward after the Diarchy collapsed.
The road itself barely deserved the name anymore. Half-flooded in places. Roots splitting through old pavement. Reconstruction crews had managed to clear enough for transports to pass, but not much more than that. One wrong turn off the marked route and the forest swallowed visibility almost immediately.
Which meant my eyes never stopped moving. Tree line. Ridge. Brush movement. Possible firing angles. Old instinct. Constant instinct.
The convoy stretched longer behind me than I liked. Civilians walked beside overloaded transports while Mandalorian escorts rotated positions around the column. Some watched the rear. Others moved ahead checking the route for unstable ground or abandoned Diarchy positions.
I stayed near the center.
Close enough to intervene if something happened. Far enough from the civilians that most avoided trying to speak to me. That part came naturally.
The armor helped. People saw the helmet, the weapons, the size of me, and usually decided silence was safer. I preferred it that way. Civilians moved unpredictably when they were nervous. Watching them was harder than watching soldiers. Soldiers understood danger. These people were trying to rebuild lives while carrying half of them in the backs of transport haulers.
A child laughed somewhere behind me.
The sound felt strangely out of place in the middle of the forest. My attention shifted automatically toward it before returning to the trees again. The convoy slowed shortly afterward as one of the lead vehicles struggled through a stretch of thick mud, tires spinning uselessly while workers shouted directions over the sound of grinding engines.
Movement to my left pulled my attention immediately.
Not hostile.
A civilian woman trying to keep her footing while carrying a child against her chest and dragging a supply case behind her at the same time. Exhaustion showed in every step she took. Mud clung halfway up her boots already. She stumbled hard when the case caught against a root. I moved before thinking.
One hand caught the crate before it tipped fully into the mud while the other steadied her shoulder automatically. The woman muttered a tired apology under her breath, trying to regain balance while shifting the child awkwardly in her arms. Then she did something I wasn't prepared for.
"Can you—?"
The question barely left her mouth before she carefully handed the child toward me so she could get her footing back beneath herself. I froze for half a second. Blasters. Knives. Bodies. Those things made sense in my hands. This didn't.
The child couldn't have been more than a few years old. Small enough that I suddenly became painfully aware of the weight behind my own hands as I took them carefully against my chestplate. Every movement felt too rough. Too heavy. Like I might somehow damage something that fragile simply by holding it wrong.
But the child didn't seem afraid. Wide eyes stared up at the dark visor of my helmet with open curiosity instead of fear. One small hand rested against the front of my armor like the beskar plating was nothing more threatening than stone. The woman adjusted the crate strap on her shoulder with an exhausted sigh before looking back up toward me.
"Thank you."
Simple words. Casual. Trusting.
I didn't know what to do with that. So I just gave a small nod through the helmet and handed the child back carefully once she was steady enough to carry them again. The convoy began moving shortly afterward. My attention returned to the forest almost immediately. Tree line. Movement. Sound. Habit dragging my thoughts back toward vigilance before they could linger too long on anything else.
Still...
For the first time since entering the forest, part of me noticed something other than potential threats.
The child had never once looked afraid of me.
Even now, with the convoy pushing slowly through the old logging paths, I could hear it around us constantly. Wind moving through massive canopies overhead. Water dripping from leaves still soaked from the morning rain. The distant groaning creak of ancient trees shifting somewhere deeper beyond the road. Every now and then the low rumble of engines broke through the natural sounds as transport haulers struggled through mud and uneven terrain carrying what little remained of civilian lives.
Furniture. Crates. Tools. Scrap metal.
Everything people decided was important enough to carry forward after the Diarchy collapsed.
The road itself barely deserved the name anymore. Half-flooded in places. Roots splitting through old pavement. Reconstruction crews had managed to clear enough for transports to pass, but not much more than that. One wrong turn off the marked route and the forest swallowed visibility almost immediately.
Which meant my eyes never stopped moving. Tree line. Ridge. Brush movement. Possible firing angles. Old instinct. Constant instinct.
The convoy stretched longer behind me than I liked. Civilians walked beside overloaded transports while Mandalorian escorts rotated positions around the column. Some watched the rear. Others moved ahead checking the route for unstable ground or abandoned Diarchy positions.
I stayed near the center.
Close enough to intervene if something happened. Far enough from the civilians that most avoided trying to speak to me. That part came naturally.
The armor helped. People saw the helmet, the weapons, the size of me, and usually decided silence was safer. I preferred it that way. Civilians moved unpredictably when they were nervous. Watching them was harder than watching soldiers. Soldiers understood danger. These people were trying to rebuild lives while carrying half of them in the backs of transport haulers.
A child laughed somewhere behind me.
The sound felt strangely out of place in the middle of the forest. My attention shifted automatically toward it before returning to the trees again. The convoy slowed shortly afterward as one of the lead vehicles struggled through a stretch of thick mud, tires spinning uselessly while workers shouted directions over the sound of grinding engines.
Movement to my left pulled my attention immediately.
Not hostile.
A civilian woman trying to keep her footing while carrying a child against her chest and dragging a supply case behind her at the same time. Exhaustion showed in every step she took. Mud clung halfway up her boots already. She stumbled hard when the case caught against a root. I moved before thinking.
One hand caught the crate before it tipped fully into the mud while the other steadied her shoulder automatically. The woman muttered a tired apology under her breath, trying to regain balance while shifting the child awkwardly in her arms. Then she did something I wasn't prepared for.
"Can you—?"
The question barely left her mouth before she carefully handed the child toward me so she could get her footing back beneath herself. I froze for half a second. Blasters. Knives. Bodies. Those things made sense in my hands. This didn't.
The child couldn't have been more than a few years old. Small enough that I suddenly became painfully aware of the weight behind my own hands as I took them carefully against my chestplate. Every movement felt too rough. Too heavy. Like I might somehow damage something that fragile simply by holding it wrong.
But the child didn't seem afraid. Wide eyes stared up at the dark visor of my helmet with open curiosity instead of fear. One small hand rested against the front of my armor like the beskar plating was nothing more threatening than stone. The woman adjusted the crate strap on her shoulder with an exhausted sigh before looking back up toward me.
"Thank you."
Simple words. Casual. Trusting.
I didn't know what to do with that. So I just gave a small nod through the helmet and handed the child back carefully once she was steady enough to carry them again. The convoy began moving shortly afterward. My attention returned to the forest almost immediately. Tree line. Movement. Sound. Habit dragging my thoughts back toward vigilance before they could linger too long on anything else.
Still...
For the first time since entering the forest, part of me noticed something other than potential threats.
The child had never once looked afraid of me.