Zaia looked away. For a moment, it was all Casany could do to watch her sister walk away, and wonder how far.
Maybe, in a sense, one reason she had brought her vod along was because Zaia was a younger version of herself, her sister, a mirror to check herself, to keep herself in check. My sister...
She was there in that cantina where they had first met, two lost heads with Mandalorian helmets, trading clan names and clan stories.
She was there when ate peas in the ship, ate Oreo's, talked of the Orar'da'yadr.
Zaia Krodas was there when Casany Praxor, Adenn Rytt and Etr Wyara took to the stars and chased their bounties.
She was there when Darth Raze parked his muscled ass on their planet, their home.
She was there when Fenyang Ordo placed a bolt into their vod, and for the bolts that followed.
She was there when Kotii Solus called any who would listen to the stars and the suns, those sons and daughters of Mandalore, to become the True Mandalorians.
She was there when the three of them fought back, as rebels, as warriors.
But she was not there for the bolts that followed.
Zaia could not know of that other conflict, that war within the war.
She was not there when the helms of Praxor and Ratheon collided, sparked a flame, broke the dam, unleashed the fire and blood to follow.
But my clan was there. My crew was there. I was there...
In a sense, it had only just begun, but soon it would end.
Silence haunted the Unwavering’s bridge as Casany Praxor stood before the viewport, staring into the universe beyond the window, one painted black with pinpricks of white.
Like sparks in the dark, from the hammer, from the anvil...
The woman stood in her beskar'gam, red and gold, gold helm and red cloak, before her helmet came off to reveal a head of brown hair, a long braid dropping over a pauldron.
In the window, she saw a face, a pale reflection, but she knew better than to stare for too long into this other mirror.
She turned around, searched for Zaia, but her gaze had to be on red more than blue.
“Oya, Mando’ade.”
The captain had her crew’s eyes, did not need to ask or demand.
“We took back our ship. We killed our enemies. Our enemies killed us. A few of their names: Kratle. Nama. Agerin. More will come. They always do.”
Always the same war.
“I killed two of the last who boarded this cruiser.”
Spared a glance at Zaia.
“In cold blood. In hot blood.
These raiders, these bounty hunters, came to capture my clanmates, my crewmates, my kin.
For Clan Ratheon, for this Mandalore or that one, for the Sith.
To in turn execute you. So I executed them instead.”
She would do it again. She would not feel sorry.
A hand came up, held a helmet, another one beside it.
They were empty, but never hollow.
“Praxor. Ratheon. Black and red, but both are gold.
Gold is vengeance, and Mandalorians share that like we share our tongue, but sometimes talking is not enough and a Mandalorian knows that too.”
“Endyr Ratheon wants to claim his vengeance?”
Cas searched Zaia’s eyes, searched for strength, searched for doubt, looked away.
A friend guides, but a leader must decide.
“Fine. I'll claim mine too."
A helmet fell, clanged upon the iron floor, but there was no red beside its gold.
"Against the coward who calls himself a man, who backed Fenyang, who bled for dar’jetii dogs, who burned my home and murdered my mother, and dares to call himself a Mandalorian!”
She saw naked eyes, saw dark visors, faces forged in fire as she held her helm like a sword, like a shield.
“We are warriors, Mando’ade, and the stars are already at war. We're just late."
Jedi, Sith, coalitions and syndicates, world wars and star wars.
The Mandalorians at large were already paving paths, but theirs was a different destination.
“But I have returned…”
Cas looked to her left, to her right.
“For Kenji Taktik and Levet Roth.”
Looked down.
“For Evla Praxor and Adenn Rytt.”
Looked up.
“For Zaia Krodas and Kotii Solus.”
For the living. For the dead.
She had their eyes but, more than that, they had hers.
“So sharpen your beskar, Praxors, and strengthen your hearts, because you are the best. You are Mandalorians. True Mandalorians!”
A fist crossed her chest, and the woman swung so as to feel.
“UNWAVERING!”
“OYA!”
The bridge began to flood.
“MANDALORE! MANDALORE! MANDALORE!”
The cry swelled, became a roar.
“PRAXOR! PRAXOR! PRAXOR!”
Then it was her own name she heard, from Keron Taze, Davyd Praxor, Adenn Rytt, even Endyr Ratheon, from her allies, even from her enemies.
“CASANY! CASANY! CASANY!”
But, look hard as she might, it was Zaia’s eyes that Casany tried to hear before her gaze returned to a sea of red.
When the hammer strikes but the Anvil is not there...what does that make me..?
@Sicadorito
Maybe, in a sense, one reason she had brought her vod along was because Zaia was a younger version of herself, her sister, a mirror to check herself, to keep herself in check. My sister...
She was there in that cantina where they had first met, two lost heads with Mandalorian helmets, trading clan names and clan stories.
She was there when ate peas in the ship, ate Oreo's, talked of the Orar'da'yadr.
Zaia Krodas was there when Casany Praxor, Adenn Rytt and Etr Wyara took to the stars and chased their bounties.
She was there when Darth Raze parked his muscled ass on their planet, their home.
She was there when Fenyang Ordo placed a bolt into their vod, and for the bolts that followed.
She was there when Kotii Solus called any who would listen to the stars and the suns, those sons and daughters of Mandalore, to become the True Mandalorians.
She was there when the three of them fought back, as rebels, as warriors.
But she was not there for the bolts that followed.
Zaia could not know of that other conflict, that war within the war.
She was not there when the helms of Praxor and Ratheon collided, sparked a flame, broke the dam, unleashed the fire and blood to follow.
But my clan was there. My crew was there. I was there...
In a sense, it had only just begun, but soon it would end.
Silence haunted the Unwavering’s bridge as Casany Praxor stood before the viewport, staring into the universe beyond the window, one painted black with pinpricks of white.
Like sparks in the dark, from the hammer, from the anvil...
The woman stood in her beskar'gam, red and gold, gold helm and red cloak, before her helmet came off to reveal a head of brown hair, a long braid dropping over a pauldron.
In the window, she saw a face, a pale reflection, but she knew better than to stare for too long into this other mirror.
She turned around, searched for Zaia, but her gaze had to be on red more than blue.
“Oya, Mando’ade.”
The captain had her crew’s eyes, did not need to ask or demand.
“We took back our ship. We killed our enemies. Our enemies killed us. A few of their names: Kratle. Nama. Agerin. More will come. They always do.”
Always the same war.
“I killed two of the last who boarded this cruiser.”
Spared a glance at Zaia.
“In cold blood. In hot blood.
These raiders, these bounty hunters, came to capture my clanmates, my crewmates, my kin.
For Clan Ratheon, for this Mandalore or that one, for the Sith.
To in turn execute you. So I executed them instead.”
She would do it again. She would not feel sorry.
A hand came up, held a helmet, another one beside it.
They were empty, but never hollow.
“Praxor. Ratheon. Black and red, but both are gold.
Gold is vengeance, and Mandalorians share that like we share our tongue, but sometimes talking is not enough and a Mandalorian knows that too.”
“Endyr Ratheon wants to claim his vengeance?”
Cas searched Zaia’s eyes, searched for strength, searched for doubt, looked away.
A friend guides, but a leader must decide.
“Fine. I'll claim mine too."
A helmet fell, clanged upon the iron floor, but there was no red beside its gold.
"Against the coward who calls himself a man, who backed Fenyang, who bled for dar’jetii dogs, who burned my home and murdered my mother, and dares to call himself a Mandalorian!”
She saw naked eyes, saw dark visors, faces forged in fire as she held her helm like a sword, like a shield.
“We are warriors, Mando’ade, and the stars are already at war. We're just late."
Jedi, Sith, coalitions and syndicates, world wars and star wars.
The Mandalorians at large were already paving paths, but theirs was a different destination.
“But I have returned…”
Cas looked to her left, to her right.
“For Kenji Taktik and Levet Roth.”
Looked down.
“For Evla Praxor and Adenn Rytt.”
Looked up.
“For Zaia Krodas and Kotii Solus.”
For the living. For the dead.
She had their eyes but, more than that, they had hers.
“So sharpen your beskar, Praxors, and strengthen your hearts, because you are the best. You are Mandalorians. True Mandalorians!”
A fist crossed her chest, and the woman swung so as to feel.
“UNWAVERING!”
“OYA!”
The bridge began to flood.
“MANDALORE! MANDALORE! MANDALORE!”
The cry swelled, became a roar.
“PRAXOR! PRAXOR! PRAXOR!”
Then it was her own name she heard, from Keron Taze, Davyd Praxor, Adenn Rytt, even Endyr Ratheon, from her allies, even from her enemies.
“CASANY! CASANY! CASANY!”
But, look hard as she might, it was Zaia’s eyes that Casany tried to hear before her gaze returned to a sea of red.
When the hammer strikes but the Anvil is not there...what does that make me..?
@Sicadorito