CHAPTER FOUR
In all the years he had been a Mandalorian, Kadar had never really considered Mandalore to be his home.
When he was born on Concord Dawn, Mandalore had already fallen under the rule of the Galactic Empire, suffering the oppression of the Suprema and the lies of the puppet Gar Saxon. Even after Mandalore had been liberated with the help of the Rebel Alliance, its people remained divided and Kadar’s mother, an heiress of Clan Vizsla, refused to support either of the claimants to the mantle of Mand’alor; Fenn Shysa for following the Codex of Jaster Mereel and Bo-Katan Kryze for betraying Death Watch at the end of the Clone Wars.
And so they remained on Concord Dawn, living simple lives as farmers. The dueling reigns of Shysa and Bo-Katan came and went, and the Darksaber that had once belonged to Clan Vizsla was thought lost in the final reconquest of Mandalore, in which the last vestiges of Imperial rule were swept away. Somehow the Darksaber had been recovered and returned to Kadar’s mother, at which point she passed it down to his eldest brother Tral. It was then that Kadar had learned of his family’s bloody history, which his parents had kept from him, and he turned his back on them, forging a new path for himself on the planet Ordo where he would meet his future family.
Even during that time, and the years that followed, Mandalore was never seen as home. Even when he and Corda raised their children there, even when Boba Fett did the impossible and brought the tribes together under a single Mand’alor. Even at the height of its brighter future, Kadar had never seen Mandalore as home.
And it certainly wasn’t now.
Walking quietly through the darkened streets of Keldabe, Kadar kept the hood of his traveling cloak as high over his head as he could. White Mandalorian armor was not exactly common, and his had earned him quite the reputation over the past decade, even more so for his role in the Battle of Mandalore a year ago. He had buried his armor after that battle to avoid such recognition, but that clearly hadn’t done much. Convinced by his daughter to embrace who he was rather than run from it, he had unburied his old armor shortly upon their arrival on Mandalore and adorned himself with it once more. Still, he had to keep his recognizable visage hidden for now until the time was right. The last thing they needed was to cause a stir in the streets, especially with everything going on right now.
The skies thundered with the sounds of battle. High above Mandalore, Mandalorian ships were locked in combat with the vessels of the First Order. They had landed on the planet just in time as there would have been no way for them to bypass the First Order’s fleet. The resurgent Empire had spent the past several weeks with surrounding the sector and was now moving in from all sides.
Kadar wasn’t sure how many worlds had fallen already, or if his own home world of Concord Dawn was among them. But he could not think about that right now. He had to stay focused.
He stayed close behind Argus and Vessin as they made their way towards the capitol of Keldabe. Argus’ jet black armor provided him with useful cover in the night but Vessin’s silver armor, passed down to her from her grandmother, caught enough eyes for some helmets to turn. If anyone noticed Kadar under his dark cloak, none dared to speak.
As they approached the capitol, Kadar noticed several Mandalorians standing outside; some were facing the front doors with their weapons drawn while others were standing vigilantly towards the streets of Keldabe. Upon noticing the approach of Argus, Vessin, and Kadar, a Mandalorian in bronze armor stepped forward and raised a hand to stop them.
“The Mand’alor is busy right now. You’ll have to wait outside.”
“We don’t have time to ‘wait,’” Argus snapped back. He gestured widely above them. “Or have you noticed the weather lately?”
“That’s exactly why he’s busy.”
The Mandalorian’s tone left no room for argument. But Argus was not the type to let something like that stop him.
Growling in frustration, the black-armored Mandalorian grabbed his bronze-clad counterpart by the collar of his undersuit and forcefully moved him aside. Some of the others instinctively pointed their weapons at him but something about his appearance and demeanor made them back off, allowing him, Vessin, and Kadar to approach the front doors.
Kadar hated to admit it, but Argus already struck him as someone more fit to lead Mandalore than someone like Tral. Given the rumors that he was directly descended from the bloodline of Mandalore the Preserver, he already had enough of a claim to the mantle. If he tried to challenge Tral Vizsla for the Darksaber, Kadar certainly wasn’t going to stop him.
Taking the lead, Argus barged through the doors and stormed past the guards standing at the doorway leading into the war room. There, the self-titled Mandalore the Exonerated stood before seven figures, all clad head to tow in black armor. While all of them wore masks concealing their identities, one of them had a pair of large green wings sprouting from their back, identifying them as some sort of winged race like a Stenax or a S’kytri….
Kadar’s heart skipped as recognition dawned on him. He had seen these people before; at the very least he had been in the same room as the S’kytri woman. They were the Knights of Ren, agents loyal to the First Order. What were they doing here, with Tral?
“Vod!” he cried out in Mando’a. Without even thinking, he threw back his hood, revealing his white helmet. “What in the blazes are you doing?!”
Tral turned, clad in black and gold armor with a red cape cascading from the back. Though his face was concealed by a red-tinted visor, Kadar could read the shock radiating from his body. “Ziar?” he exclaimed. “But… I thought you were dead!”
“You’re going to wish I was,” Kadar snarled, brushing past Argus and taking the lead. “What are you doing, colluding with the enemy?”
“We are not the enemy,” one of the Knights of Ren said coolly. He had a scythe made of phrik attached to his back.
“You’re with the First Order. I saw you back on Corellia.”
“A lot has changed since then. All that concerns you is that our goals now align.”
“I don’t buy it,” muttered Vessin, unholstering her dual Westar blaster pistols. “This has to be some sort of trick.”
“Your leader is welcome to turn down our offer,” said the Knight of Ren with the scythe. “We lose nothing by leaving this fight, yet you have everything to gain.”
“Please, vod,” Tral said to Kadar. “Trust me on this. I know what I am doing. We are going to need all of the help we can get.”
Kadar shook his head. “No. You’re falling into the same trap that Atinar did. These guys are no different from the Sith or the Empire, and how many times have our people died because of them? From the Sith War to the Great Purge, it has all been because of them. You’re deluding yourself if you think this time will be any different.”
“It will be different. Please, brother. Trust me.”
“Enough of this,” Argus growled as he shoved past Kadar, standing between him and Tral. “Your rule has come to an end, Mand’alor. I challenge you for the Darksaber.”
Tral stiffened and his hand moved for the unignited weapon hanging from his belt. Forged by Tarre Vizsla from the ancient mask of Mand’alor over a millennium ago, the Darksaber had served as a symbol for the Mandalorians for many years, being passed down from leader to leader. According to the Way of the Mandalore, a belief held by many orthodox sects, the Darksaber could only be won through combat and whoever wielded it ruled Mandalore. This tradition had been broken more than once, most notably when Bo-Katan wielded it prior to the Great Purge. Since then, it was seen as more of a curse than a blessing, and few still held onto the belief that wielding it was necessary to claim the mantle of Mand’alor. After all, Boba Fett had never laid his hands on it in all the twenty years of his reign.
Argus, Kadar knew, was not one of those who believed in the Darksaber. In his youth, he had followed the Supercommando Codex as advocated by the Mandalorian Protectors and accepted Fenn Shysa as Mand’alor in opposition to Bo-Katan’s concurrent claim. Having lost many kin to Death Watch over the years, both before and after his birth, it made sense that he did not hold Clan Vizsla and their legacy in high regard. Kadar, of course, had first-hand knowledge of that.
No, Argus was challenging Tral not because he believed in the Darksaber, but because he knew what it meant to him, as a Vizsla. As a direct descendant of Tarre Vizsla’s bloodline, Tral knew better than anyone what the Darksaber meant to his clan and those who still held it in high regard. To challenge him for it was challenging his honor, his bloodright. If he turned it down, he would look like a coward to everyone in the room, or at least to anyone who was a Mandalorian.
Before Tral could make a move, the Knight of Ren with the scythe stepped forward, until he was just behind the Mand’alor. “I believe I have a better way of settling this.”
The Knight of Ren seemed to move in a blur, snatching the Darksaber from where it hung on Tral’s belt. He then ignited its black blade and moved it in one swift stroke, aiming at Tral’s neck.
Kadar cried out as his brother’s severed helmeted head flew across the room and hit the wall. He then drew his blasters and started firing at the Knights of Ren only to be pushed off his feet by an invisible force, the S’kytri woman raising her hand at the same time. Argus and Vessin had their weapons drawn but did not fire, knowing they were outnumbered and outmatched.
“I will admit,” the Knight of Ren said as he held the Darksaber aloft in his hand. “You Mandalorians are more perceptible than I give you credit for. For that, you have our mercy.”
“Like hell we’re letting you get out of here alive,” Argus growled.
“For your own sake, you will. Ushar?”
One of the other Knights unclipped a spherical object from a bandolier around their chest. He clicked it on and hurled it at the Mandalorians. It only took Kadar a second for him to realize what it was.
“Thermal detonator! Get down!”
He was back on his feet for less than a moment when the grenade went off and fire erupted around him.
The Supremacy
“My forces have engaged the Mandalorians in combat,” General Parnadee said, her holographic form emitting before General Hux. “The plan is to let them ‘win’ this battle in order to lull them into a false sense of security.”
“A sound plan,” opined General Pryde, transmitting from his own location aboard the Steadfast. “Has the Executor approved this strategy?”
Parnadee shook her head. “He hasn’t been answering my calls.”
Pryde turned his steely gaze to Hux and the younger general stiffened to attention. “You are part of the Executor’s strike force, are you not, General Hux? Have you been in the Executor’s presence?”
“Not lately,” Hux evenly replied. “He participated in the assault on the Resistance’s base personally before ordering a withdrawal. He then placed me in command of the Supremacy while he retreated to his personal quarters.”
Pryde raised an eyebrow. “Do you know why he assigned you to the Supreme Leader’s personal vessel?”
“From my understanding, the Executor gave the previous commander an… early retirement.”
“So much like Lord Vader.” Pryde sighed as he shook his head. “I suggest we convene the Supreme Council once General Parnadee’s forces are finished at Mandalore. I believe a meeting regarding the future of the First Order is in order… preferably without the Executor’s presence.”
Hux looked at Pryde in surprise. “Is that wise? Won’t he find out about it?”
“I trust that you will do everything in your power to ensure that he does not.”
Hux knew that Pryde was asking the impossible, but he wasn’t sure if the older man knew that. Instead, he simply bowed his head in acknowledgment. “It will be done.”
“Good. Until we meet again.”
With that, Pryde and Parnadee signed off and their holograms dissolved into nothingness. Once they were gone, Hux blew out the breath he did not realize he had been holding.
“Boy, I do not envy the position you’re in.”
Hux spun on his heel to find the assassin known as Ochi of Bestoon standing behind him, leaning against an unattended console. On the other side of him was the chrome-armored Captain Phasma, a commanding officer from the First Order’s Stormtrooper Corps. As always, her expression was hidden by the helmet that she never removed in Hux’s presence—or anyone’s for that matter. He found it strange that she was here with Ochi; given how disparate their personalities were, he never imagined them being able to tolerate each other’s presence unless ordered to.
Recomposing himself, Hux fixed his green eyes on Ochi. “What do you want, assassin?” he said icily.
Ochi shrugged noncommittally. “Just thought I would pass along some interesting information I learned, that I thought you should know.”
Hux gave the assassin an impatient look. “Well? What is it?”
“I just got a call from an old master of mine. One that I think you might have heard of.” Ochi’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Supreme Leader Snoke.”
Hux’s eyes widened in response. “The Supreme Leader? But… the Executor said he was still recovering from the attempt on his life.”
Ochi laughed sharply. “The Executor is lying to you, General. He killed the Supreme Leader so he could take control of the First Order.”
“What?!” Hux exclaimed, suddenly grateful that no other officers were present or within hearing distance. It was just him, Phasma, and the assassin. “But then… how did he—”
“Obviously it must have been a decoy that he killed,” Ochi suggested. “Because the real Supreme Leader is on his way here and wants you to prepare for his arrival.”
Hux clutched his head. He felt like he was getting a migraine. He looked over to Phasma, who stood as resolute as ever. “Did you know about this?” he asked, his voice as low as a whisper.
“I intercepted his communication with the Supreme Leader,” Phasma replied. “I ordered him to inform you immediately or face execution.”
“I was going to tell him anyway,” Ochi said defensively. “I wasn’t going to keep it to myself!”
Ignoring him, Hux began to pace back and forth, racking his brain on what to do. He thought about sending Phasma and her soldiers into the throne room and arrest Kylo Ren, but he knew that would be suicidal. Not only was Ren a Force user with a lightsaber, but he also had the Elite Praetorian Guard that once answered to Snoke. Would the Praetorians protect the Executor though? Surely they must have been there when Ren seemingly killed the Supreme Leader. Why hadn’t they acted yet?
As a member of the Supreme Council, he did technically had the authority to order the Praetorian Guard in the Supreme Leader’s absence… but did he have that authority if the Supreme Leader was in fact still alive and well? Was he supposed to wait until Snoke returned to deal with Kylo Ren?
“General.” Phasma’s cool voice cut through his thoughts like a shard of ice. “What are your orders?”
Before Hux could answer her, he looked up in time to see a young woman step up to the open doorway, standing to attention with a stiff salute. If memory served, her name was Lieutenant Stynnix, having recently graduated from the First Order’s Sub-Adult Program.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Stynnix said curtly. “The Executor has departed from the hangar in his TIE Silencer. He did not provide any details regarding his destination but wanted me to inform you—”
Hux let out a sharp, mirthless laugh that startled Stynnix and even made Ochi shift slightly. Phasma, of course, did not budge. “Of course,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course he left. Just like that. He knows. He knows what’s coming for him. Coward.”
Stynnix swallowed, looking unsure how to respond. “Sir?”
Hux waved a dismissive hand. “Forget it. Thank you for letting me know. Is there anything else?”
“Yes, sir. He wanted me to inform you that….”
When the young woman trailed off, Hux stepped closer to her, his green eyes imploring her to continue. “Yes?”
“His exact words were that you are a fool to remain where you are if what he knows is true.” Stynnix shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I am not certain as to what he meant by that.”
Hux snorted. “Neither do I. But it doesn’t matter now. Dismissed, lieutenant.”
Once Stynnix had left, Hux turned his attention back to Ochi and Phasma, a smirk twisting onto his face.
“Well then, what are we waiting for? Let us prepare for the Supreme Leader’s arrival. We wouldn’t want to make a bad impression.”
* * *
It had all been a lie.
He had known this, of course. Ever since Damosus, he had known this. But even when he thought he had known the truth, it was still a lie.
He had nowhere left to turn. Vorath was gone and Snoke would no doubt kill him for what he had done. Even so, he did not want to be a slave again, to either the Supreme Leader or a Dark Lord.
The other Knights of Ren were not responding to his calls, but he had the Night Buzzard’s current location. Mandalore. What were they doing on Mandalore? He knew that the First Order had forces stationed in the sector, but he had not ordered the Knights to go there. They were supposed to answer his beck and call, not just because he was the Executor but because he was the Master of the Knights of Ren.
Or was he? Had they turned against him as well? It wouldn’t surprise him. He knew that Vicrul and the others had never accepted him as their leader, even after Snoke had named him as such. For the past fourteen years, he had been expecting a betrayal of some kind. Perhaps now was as good an opportunity for them as any.
He stared at his navigational console, unsure of where to go. He couldn’t go to Mustafar; that would be too obvious and Snoke would find him easily. Nor could he go to any of the Knights’ hideouts out in Wild Space or the edge of the Unknown Regions. He couldn’t go anywhere the First Order had extended its reach, which now included much of the Outer Rim and even the Core Worlds. He needed to go somewhere in the galaxy where no one, not even Snoke, would find him.
That was when it hit.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out the cube-shaped object that contained the map to the First Jedi Temple. He had taken it from Snoke’s corpse after killing him and had been holding onto it ever since, waiting for the proper moment to use it. That moment, evidently, was now.
After putting in the coordinates, Kylo Ren leaned back in his seat as he engaged his TIE Silencer’s hyperdrive. The stars extended before him as he jumped into the unknown.
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