Location: Tython Orbit – Jedi Transport "Vigilant Resolve"
Date: 24 BBY
Cain groaned, wincing as the auto-stabilizers in the Jedi transport adjusted. Anakin had his arm looped under his shoulders, helping him into the medbay, while Seris and Barriss hovered anxiously.
"I told you," Anakin muttered, half-grumbling, "walking into the Sith Lord's office alone was stupid."
"You were with Dooku," Cain rasped, trying to offer a smile through cracked lips. "And someone had to slap the Emperor in the face."
"You could've used a datapad instead," Seris muttered, helping to pull his cloak off.
They laid Cain onto the medbay cot. He winced, his torso covered in dark, purpling bruises, thin scorched lines carved down his ribs from the lightning, his breath tight with each inhale.
Barriss activated the medical scanner and pressed a bacta-soaked pad against a particularly bad wound. Cain grunted but stayed still.
"Your vitals are stable," she murmured. "But you'll need a few days of rest. Minimum."
Cain nodded, eyes fluttering shut briefly.
"You stopped him," Seris whispered, kneeling beside him.
"No," Cain said, voice low. "I slowed him down."
Two Days Later – Tython
The twin suns of Tython pierced through the morning mist. Cain stood on the balcony of the central hall, wrapped in a sleeveless robe, his upper body still bandaged beneath the fabric. His left hand held his kyber crystal, faint gold with black veins streaking through it.
Master Fay approached, her expression unreadable but her eyes soft. "You shouldn't be standing."
"I can't lay down forever," Cain replied. "There's work to do."
She reached for his arm gently, feeling the hum of discomfort in his aura. "You've changed."
"So has the Force," he said. "Or maybe I'm finally hearing it clearly."
She looked out with him at the cliffside below. "The Mandalorians have arrived. Bo-Katan and the united clans. They're ready."
Cain nodded. "Then it's time."
Fay frowned. "Cain… you can barely stand."
Cain turned, just enough to see Bo-Katan walking into the hall, her helmet cradled under one arm.
She gave Cain a long look before smirking. "You don't look like much of a warrior right now."
Cain chuckled hoarsely. "And you don't look like a symbol of Mandalorian unity."
Bo's smirk faded.
"Pre Vizsla and his Death Watch aren't just posturing anymore," she said, stepping closer. "They're preparing for a full-scale purge of Satine's loyalists and any of the neutral clans. I have spies in his ranks. He's planning something big."
Cain nodded, fingers brushing the kyber crystal.
"Then it's time to answer," he said. "This is your fight, Bo."
Bo stiffened. "You're the one they listen to."
"No," Cain said, stepping forward with effort, his golden eyes bright beneath the fatigue. "They listen to me. But they belong to you."
He handed her the small crystal—his new one, unbonded. "This is your symbol now. Not mine."
Bo stared down at it.
"Unite them," Cain said. "Be what your sister never could… and what Pre Vizsla never wanted you to be. Be the protector Mandalore needs."
Bo put her helmet on, locking it into place.
Then she turned sharply. "We leave within the hour."
Later – Tython's Southern Valley
The sky above the valley was clouded, low mists sweeping across the rocky grasslands. Ships descended, repulsorlifts humming like thunder.
Death Watch gathered in formation, dozens of blue-armored warriors led by Pre Vizsla himself, cloaked in tradition and arrogance.
"What is this?" Pre growled, stepping forward. "Why summon us to this backwater?"
Cain stood at the top of a stone ledge, flanked by Anakin and Seris. Bo-Katan walked forward alone.
"You always said Mandalore was fractured," Bo said, her voice carrying with her helmet's modulation. "I say it's only been wounded… waiting to heal."
Pre sneered. "With you? You serve Jedi now."
Bo drew in a long breath.
"I serve Mandalore."
The warriors around Pre stirred. Some looked at each other. Others tensed.
Pre stepped forward, hand on the hilt of the Darksaber. "Then choose your path, Bo. Will you return to the way of conquest? Or will you continue to dance at the feet of pacifists and Force mystics?"
Bo didn't answer with words.
Instead, she lifted the kyber crystal Cain had given her—now hanging in a newly forged pendant around her neck.
Then she spoke.
"Pre Vizsla, your era ends today. I challenge you—not to a duel of blades, but of leadership. Call your banners. And I'll call mine."
She turned and gestured.
Ships descended. Clans emerged. Jetpacks ignited.
Hundreds.
Mandalorians from Clan Wren, Eldar, Kryze, even splinter members of Vizsla—each bearing different sigils but now flying under one banner.
Cain stepped forward, resting a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "It begins."
Pre Vizsla looked around, realizing too late the trap he had walked into. Not of violence… but of unity.
Codex Entry 039 – The Watch Reclaimed
Mandalore is not its past.
It is not the myth of the blade, or the stain of war.
It is its people. United not by conquest…
But by choice.
The valley stood still.
The air was thick with tension as hundreds of armored Mandalorians watched silently, their clan banners fluttering gently in the breeze. The sun had begun its descent, casting a long golden hue across the stone-laced field.
In the center, Pre Vizsla, battered pride and all, stepped forward as the circle tightened around him.
"I'm no coward," he said, blood dried across his cheek from the earlier scuffle. "I'll face her."
He stared across the valley at Bo-Katan, who stood tall in the golden-orange glow, her armor scuffed but ready. Cain stood beside her, still healing but sharp-eyed, Seris and Anakin flanking him.
Pre Vizsla snarled. "One-on-one. No Jedi. No Force. No tricks."
Bo nodded. "Just Mandalorian steel and fire."
The circle cleared. Barriss walked forward and approached Cain, silently offering him a long-wrapped cloth. Cain's brows lifted in surprise.
"What's this?" he asked.
"A gift. Something forged in silence," Barriss replied softly.
Cain unwrapped it carefully.
A beskar falchion—a curved blade, heavy near the edge and razor-thin along its back. Ancient in design. Mandalorian in soul.
He turned to Bo.
She looked at the blade—and understood immediately. Her eyes narrowed, her breath tightened. She stepped forward and took the falchion from Cain with reverence.
Cain met her gaze. "Make this the last trial."
Bo unsheathed the falchion in one clean movement. The air practically hissed at its edge.
Then, without ceremony or delay, she marched forward and stepped into the circle.
The Duel
Bo and Pre activated their jetpacks in tandem—rocketing toward each other midair, beskar crashing against beskar, blasters firing in reflex as they tangled in flight, then crashed back to the ground like meteors.
Explosives detonated nearby, the shockwave tossing dirt and stone. Their jetpacks sputtered and died after the opening crash.
Bo rolled to her feet, swung the falchion—Pre blocked with his vambrace and elbowed her in the jaw.
They separated, circled. Weapons drawn.
Bo fired twin blasters. Pre ducked and hurled a flashbomb, forcing her to dive.
Then blades clashed. The Darksaber against the beskar falchion, black light against forged metal.
Bo moved with rage and control, Pre with brutal power.
They disarmed each other mid-spin. Both drew vibrodaggers.
Bo took a stab to the side—Pre took a boot to the face that broke his nose.
Their helmets clattered to the ground.
Now it was flesh. Bone. Pride.
The Mandalorians around them didn't cheer. They didn't move.
This was sacred.
The two warriors crashed into each other again—grappling, slamming fists, dodging jabs, roaring as blood slicked the stone.
They rolled through the dirt until the light began to fade.
Sunset was falling.
Bo, blood running from her nose, lip split, mounted Pre and pounded him—once, twice, over and over.
He weakly caught her wrist… then dropped it.
She reached for the Darksaber, lying near the edge of the ring.
Pre rose to his knees, trembling, his face a broken map of bruises and blood.
"Finish it…" he gargled, blood dripping from his mouth. "Finish it."
Bo stood, struggling to hold the blade upright.
For a moment, her eyes flashed bright gold in the dying sun.
Pre Screamed "Long Live Mandalore"
She raised the Dark saber overhead.
"Long live Mandalore," she whispered.
With one clean motion—she beheaded Pre Vizsla.
The silence was absolute.
Then the warriors—Death Watch, Kryze, Wren, all of them—dropped to one knee.
"Long live Mandalore," Bo shouted, blood on her cheek, fire in her voice.
"Long live Mandalore," they all echoed.
Hundreds of voices. One people.
She turned, stumbling toward Cain, still gripping the Darksaber and the beskar falchion.
"I'm not… ready for this yet," she muttered, handing him the Darksaber hilt. "Take it. Until all of Mandalore is united… I need time."
She pulled the gold-and-black kyber crystal from her neck and dropped it in his palm.
"You need a saber anyway."
Cain caught her as she collapsed into him—bloodied, unconscious, victorious.
He smiled through the swelling pain in his ribs.
"She's… so cool," he whispered.
Codex Entry 040 – The Blade and the Will
Mandalore is reborn not with conquest…
But with unity.
And Bo-Katan, for all her fire… chose peace by earning it with blood.
This time, the blade serves the people.