Mandalore, outskirts of Keldabe
1434 local time
The breeze had died out completely, the wasteland still and silent as the void. The dilapidated remains of buildings torn apart by war stood broken, their windows long ago smashed in and pulverized, their doors mere ash that had blown away years before. Vegetation had not returned, and neither had the wildlife, as Mandalore lay quiet like the grave it had become. There were still settlements, sure, but not even the domed cities that had risen from the ash could be compared to the former glory of the world around him.
Many say that Mandalore is cursed. The planet that tore itself apart, drunk on too much war. Too much progress. Too much arrogance. All the better if it is cursed.
It made Lex think. Thinking was something he had done a lot in the past few days ever since issuing the challenge. Perhaps he had not done it enough before, but he'd come to terms with the fact that the past is in the past and there was no taking anything back now. Sitting on the charred husk of a speeder reduced to a mound of wrecked durasteel, he felt more at home here than anywhere else in the Galaxy. He felt more in tune with the world around him than he had ever felt, because now he could truly feel the catastrophe that hubris had brought down upon the world. He knew and he understood, because he had done it to himself the same way, so blinded by his desire to do the right thing that he did not stop to consider whether the right thing was right when no one else agreed. His father had talked some sense into him, and to Lex's surprise, there was no disappointment or disapproval from him. His father understood, could relate, but nevertheless had the wisdom to realize that perhaps it was not right to try to push what you perceive to be the right thing onto a sector of people who disagree.
The Manda'lor had not outright accepted his challenge, and Lex had lost the fire within him that was needed to keep pushing, to keep poking the bear as those around him screamed for him to stop. Resignedly, he had come to terms with the solitude that awaited, aware that showing his face anywhere will lead to him getting scalped and riddled with blaster bolts. He could, of course, travel to Lothal, but for what? By the time he arrived, it would be far too late, and showing his face there would not mean that his repentance would be accepted by the Manda'lor or by his peers. So what was there to do?
Maybe he would spend the rest of his life wandering aimlessly, searching for the answer. Maybe he would take his life, resign himself to the dishonor that he had already brought himself and damn his soul the way he had damned himself. He had prayed to his Gods for days in this nuclear desert, and it seemed his prayers had fallen on deaf ears--or perhaps even his Gods had forsaken him, a traitor to his people and his Manda'lor.
Unknown, Outer Rim
1845 local time
He'd left Mandalore after a few days, scouring the Galaxy with nothing more than his thoughts and the few belongings he had. Lex had landed briefly on some insignificant desert planet in the Outer Rim unaffiliated with any faction and existing without a governing body just to refuel, but he found himself exploring the outskirts of the village he'd found. He was sitting on a rock wondering what he was going to eat today, a brief respite from the doubts that wracked his mind every day.
The Mandalorian was snapped out of his thoughts as the silence was broken for the first time in so long, as the light shifted on the horizon and he spotted a dot quickly approaching. He realized it was a ship, then once it faded into view recognized the decal. It could be no other than--
Though he had spoken to no one about where he was going and not even he properly knew where he was, he had no doubt that the Alor had the skills necessary to track a roach from one corner of the Galaxy into another and then into Wild Space.
Fuck.
@Darasuum
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