The training hall buzzed with tension. Twenty-four new cadets—former wild settlers—stood in formation, their breaths forming clouds of steam in the cool air. Kardis slowly walked along their ranks.
"Elbow strike to the solar plexus," his voice was steady, confident. "Shoulder grab. Hip throw. Repeat."
Alex watched from behind the glass partition of the observation gallery. After their joint mission, Kardis's attitude towards Alex had improved. Kardis was no longer a detached mercenary fulfilling a contract. He had become part of the Tersik—a demanding but fair instructor, respected by all the cadets. It was clear he was giving it his all. His methods were harsh, but effective. The new recruits, who a month ago could barely hold a blaster, were now beginning to move like real fighters.
"Good," Kardis said as the cadets finished practicing the move. "But Jakes, you're still giving away your strikes by the direction of your gaze. An opponent will read you from a mile away. Maris, work on your stance—your center of gravity is too high."
He gave personal feedback to each one, remembering the strengths and weaknesses of all twenty-four individuals.
"That's enough for today," Kardis announced. "Tomorrow, same time. And remember—results start with self-discipline. Take care of your equipment, your body, your mind."
The cadets began to disperse, quietly discussing the training. Alex descended from the gallery to the main level of the hall. Kardis was checking the training weapons.
"Good training," Alex said, approaching.
"They're learning," Kardis replied, not looking up. "Slowly, but surely."
Kardis didn't wear his helmet constantly. His face had become more open, less tense. He had found something here that he hadn't had before. A purpose.
"Want to spar?" Alex offered when they finished.
Kardis smirked. "Want to test again how much you depend on your precognition?"
"Something like that."
They took training blades and had a short sparring session. Alex didn't use the Force at all, not even to enhance his body. As usual under these rules, Alex lost—without the ability to predict Kardis's movements, enhance his reaction time or body, his advantages melted away like snow in the sun. But with each attempt, he held on a little longer, learning to read body language, micro-movements, weapon positioning.
"Better," Kardis said when they finished. "But you still rely too much on seeing ahead. Combat is about the here and now."
"Working on it," Alex wiped sweat from his brow. "Coffee?"
Kardis nodded.
It was difficult to separate the skills of the gifted and the Mandalorians. They contradicted each other. But this was exactly what Alex wanted to learn. To switch.
They sat in a small mess hall next to the training complex. Outside the window, a city was under construction—cranes, construction droids, new modules rising to the sky. Tersik was growing every day, transforming from a small colony into a real city.
"Impressive progress," Kardis said, following Alex's gaze. "When I arrived, there were half as many buildings here."
"Now a team I assembled thinks for me," Alex took a sip from his cup. "Engineers, technicians, scientists. People who understand how things work."
"And are willing to work not just for credits, but with conscience," Kardis added. "That's rare."
"Are you staying?" Alex asked directly. "I mean for a long time. Not just until the contract is active."
Kardis was silent for a moment, turning his cup in his hands.
"And where would I go?" he finally said. "There's work here that makes sense. People who listen. A purpose that is more than just survival."
"But?"
"But I still haven't atoned for breaking the code," Kardis touched his beskar chest plate. "I failed to save the lives of those I was responsible for."
Alex frowned.
"Why didn't you join another clan? Surely there are Mandalorians who would accept an experienced warrior."
Kardis shook his head.
"It doesn't work that way. Not everyone who calls themselves a Mandalorian is one. I don't need just any clan, only one that follows the Way."
"The Way?" Alex was surprised. "Is it that rare?"
"It's not rare, just difficult to find," Kardis looked at him intently. "We don't like to reveal our location. There are reasons."
Alex leaned forward, intrigued.
"What reasons?"
Kardis looked at him for a long time, as if weighing something. Then he slowly nodded.
"To understand that, you need to know our history," he said. "Have you been interested in the Way?"
"I've read what I could find," Alex answered honestly. "But most sources are superficial. Military history, famous battles. Nothing about culture, about how you live."
Kardis nodded as if he expected such an answer. He took a small data chip from his pocket and placed it on the table between them.
"This isn't secret information," he said. "But it's not something usually given to outsiders. The history of our people. Traditions. The foundations of the Way."
Alex looked at the chip. It was a sign of trust, serious trust.
Alex took the chip.
"Thank you," he said. "This... means a lot."
"Read it first," Kardis smirked. "Then you'll decide whether to thank me or not."
They were silent for a moment. Outside the window, construction droids continued their work, raising new structures to the sky. The future was growing before their eyes.
"Tell me about Clan Wei," Alex asked. "If it's not a secret."
Kardis was silent for a long time. His face became serious, distant.
"I'll tell you. Clan Wei was... very young," he began finally. "We weren't an ordinary clan. We were a seed."
"A seed?"
"A new clan. A backup option in case of catastrophe. The irony is that the catastrophe happened to us." Kardis spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words. "Mandalorians have learned bitter lessons from history. We know that empires come and go, that wars can erase entire worlds. That's why we create remote bases where our culture and technology can be preserved if the main clans perish."
Alex nodded. He himself was building something similar here.
"Our colony was on Sermau, near Batuu," Kardis continued. "A world that thousands of years ago was on a serious transport artery to regions now called unexplored. In our time—it's the main black hole of the galaxy. We turned it into a new sanctuary. Training halls, workshops, living quarters, beskar processing areas. A place where a new generation could be raised."
"How many of you were there?"
"One thousand four hundred and forty-three adult warriors. Two thousand twenty-seven children—foundlings and our own. We even had our own Armorer," Kardis spoke evenly, but Alex could hear the pain in his voice. "A small clan, but self-sufficient and with prospects." He fell silent, looking out the window. Alex waited, not hurrying him.
"We lived there for twelve years," Kardis continued. "We trained, taught the children, preserved knowledge. We carried out reconnaissance missions, monitored the situation in the sector. We were the eyes and ears of the main clans."
"What happened?"
Kardis clenched his jaw.
"A mistake. One damned mistake," he shook his head. "One of our ships was returning from a reconnaissance mission. Nothing special—monitoring Imperial activity in neighboring systems. But the pilot made a mistake in the hyperspace jump. Exited hyperspace too close to a trade route."
Alex began to understand where this was leading.
"He was detected?"
"An Imperial patrol. A regular customs service ship," Kardis spoke quieter and quieter. "Our pilot jumped back into hyperspace, but they managed to scan the ship. Register the engine signature, the energy profile. If he had just flown in another direction... but he headed home. Straight to Sermau."
"And they traced the route."
"Not immediately. But they started tracking us. It took time. But Imperial intelligence is patient," Kardis stood up and walked to the window. "They analyzed the data, built models of possible routes, checked systems one by one. After two months, they found us. Strange, actually. I still don't understand why we interested them so much."
Alex felt a chill in his stomach.
"What did they do?"
Kardis didn't turn around, continuing to look at the city under construction.
"It was a sector sweep," he said quietly. "The Empire decided to remove all 'undesirable elements' in the region. Smuggler bases, pirate dens, hidden settlements. We just ended up on the list."
He turned to Alex, and old pain was visible in his eyes.
"They sent an squadron. Three Star Destroyers. Not just for us—for the entire sector. Methodically, system by system, they erased all detected unregistered settlements."
"And your base?"
"We were first. A sudden orbital bombardment. Full power," Kardis's voice became cold, detached. "They turned our settlements into molten glass. Those inside died instantly. Children, families, the elderly, our Armorer... everyone."
Alex was silent, not knowing what to say. Words seemed inappropriate in the face of such tragedy.
"And you?"
"I was on a long-range patrol. When I returned..." Kardis fell silent for a long time. "Only a crater in the ground remained of Clan Wei. And me. It happened about a week before we met."
"It wasn't a battle," he continued. "There was no honor, no chance to defend the clan. We weren't even the main target—we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"It's not your fault," Alex said quietly.
"Perhaps," Kardis shrugged. "But it's my responsibility. There's a principle in our code: a Mandalorian is responsible for the commitments they make, especially for the lives of children. I failed. I wasn't even there when they died."
"You couldn't have known..."
"I could have. I should have. I knew about the incident with the scout. I could have foreseen it. We could have evacuated." Kardis touched his chest plate. "That's why Clan Wei no longer exists. And a Mandalorian without a clan is not a Mandalorian."
Alex stood up and walked over to the Mandalorian.
"But you wear the helmet."
"I wear it for now. But I must surrender it to the Armorer when I find her. Or rejoin a clan. According to our rules, I still have time. And I hope there will be a solution." Kardis looked at him. "But it's too early to talk about that."
"Stay here," Alex said. "Whether you're in a clan or not, you're with us. You're welcome here."
Kardis nodded slowly.
"Perhaps that's why I'm here. There's something here worth protecting. Something that can outlast us all."
They returned to the table. Alex picked up the data chip, turning it in his hands.
"What's on it?" he asked.
"History. Traditions. The foundations of the Way," Kardis sat opposite him. "How Mandalorians live, why we live this way. What makes a Mandalorian a Mandalorian. Read it—maybe you'll understand," Kardis smirked. "I'll say only one thing: the Way is not just a code of conduct. It's a way of thinking. A way of seeing the world. You can't learn it in a few months or even years. It has to become part of you."
Alex nodded, putting the chip in his pocket.
"Thank you," he said. "For your trust."
"Don't thank me yet," Kardis said, standing up. "First, read it. Then you'll decide if it's good or bad to know so much about us."
He headed for the exit.
Alex was left alone in the mess hall, the data chip in his pocket. Outside, construction continued—cranes lifted new modules, droids welded metal structures, people hurried about their business.
Alex and Verena sat in their meditation room, as they had every evening for months. Crystals lay on the low table between them, glinting dully in the dim light. Outside, rain drizzled—remnants of the cyclone that had battered the city for three weeks.
"Let's try again," Alex said, taking his crystal in his hands.
Verena nodded, closing her eyes. They were accustomed to this ritual—the nightly attempts to connect with the crystals, to understand their nature, to find resonance. So far, unsuccessful.
Alex closed his eyes and sank into meditation. The world around him receded—the sounds of rain, the feel of the chair beneath his back, even Verena's presence beside him. Only he remained, the crystal in his palms, and the infinite expanse of the Force.
The crystal in his hands remained cold, inert.
Alex delved deeper into meditation, releasing control, letting his thoughts flow freely. He thought about his goals, about who he wanted to be. Not a tool of the system, not a servant of another's will. Himself. Free.
And then...
Something stirred.
Not in the crystal—in the very fabric of reality around him. A thin thread of probability, barely discernible, like a spiderweb in the wind. It hadn't been there before. It stretched somewhere far beyond his perception, connecting him to something important, significant.
Alex tried to follow the thread, to understand where it led. But the more he concentrated, the more indistinct it became. It was like trying to recall something he had just been thinking about. When you still remember the feeling of a thought, but can't quite grasp it.
The crystal in his hands grew warm. Barely noticeable, but perceptible.
"Alex," Verena called softly.
He opened his eyes. Verena looked at him with surprise, her crystal in her palms.
"Did you feel it?" he asked.
"Something," she nodded. "Like... an echo. A reverberation of something that happened to you."
Alex looked at his crystal. It was cold again, ordinary. But something had changed. Barely perceptible, on the edge of perception, but it had changed.
"I saw a thread," he said slowly. "A line of probability. Very thin, very distant. It stretched... I don't know where. But it was important."
Verena leaned forward.
"Can you find it again?"
Alex closed his eyes, tried to return to that state. But the thread had vanished. He felt only the usual currents of the Force, the usual probability patterns of Tersik.
"No," he opened his eyes. "It's gone."
"But it's progress," Verena smiled. "The first real response in all these months."
Alex nodded, turning the crystal in his hands. Perhaps they were truly approaching understanding. Slowly, cautiously, but approaching.
"We'll try again tomorrow," he said, putting the crystal back in its case. "And the day after. Sooner or later, I'll find that thread again."
But he had other matters to attend to. More earthly, more practical. Matters that didn't require mystical revelations, only common sense and caution.
Alex thought of Kardis. The Mandalorian had quickly integrated into the colony's life—training the militia, advising on security matters, even helping engineers with the design of new defensive structures. People respected him.
Kardis's words about the Wei clan kept replaying in Alex's mind. But there were other clans. Kardis had spoken of them—Mandalorians who still followed the Way. Hidden, cautious, but alive.
Alex needed such people. Warriors who couldn't be read through the Force, who could stand against the Force-sensitive on equal footing. People with discipline, a code of honor, the ability to fight not just for money or power.
But how to find them? How to establish contact without endangering himself or them?
It was time to speak with the head of his intelligence—Kleya Marki, Luten's former aide.
Kleya Marki was in her office—a small room in the administrative sector, its walls adorned with star charts and trade route schematics. She was sitting at her desk, reviewing agent reports, when Alex entered.
"I have a mission," he said without preamble. "Difficult and delicate."
Kleya put down her datapad and looked at him intently.
"I'm listening."
Alex sat in the chair opposite her desk.
"I need to find Mandalorians. Real Mandalorians who follow the traditional Way. Not mercenaries in stolen armor, but clan members with ancient traditions."
Kleya raised an eyebrow.
"Is this related to our instructor?"
"Partially," Alex didn't hide it. "I want to help him, but even more, I want to establish relations with their clans. It could be very promising."
He leaned forward.
"Mandalorians possess unique abilities. Their discipline, their Way—it's not just a philosophy. It's a practical system that makes them less susceptible to certain types of influence."
Kleya frowned.
"Susceptible to what types of influence?"
"Let's just say—there are ways to affect the mind that don't work on those who follow the Mandalorian Way. I want to understand how it works. And I want to establish relations with people who possess such protection."
Kleya leaned back in her chair, processing the information.
"I understand," she said finally. "But it won't be easy. Mandalorians don't like to draw attention to themselves."
"But is it possible?"
"It's possible," she nodded. "I have contacts. Information brokers, traders, smugglers. Someone among them might know something useful. But it will require time and, most importantly, extreme caution."
Alex nodded.
"We have enough time. And caution is a mandatory condition. I don't want to create problems for us or for them. The approach here is more about gradually building trust. But for that, we need to start a dialogue."
Kleya stood up and walked to one of the star charts on the wall.
"I'll start with Mandalore and the surrounding systems," she said, pointing to the relevant spots. "There should be traces, leads. Then I'll expand the search to the Outer Rim."
"What are the risks?"
"The main risk is attracting the Empire's attention," Kleya turned to him. "If Imperial Intelligence notices someone searching for Mandalorians, they might become interested. And that's the last thing we need."
Alex agreed with a nod.
"That's why we'll work through intermediaries. No direct contact, no mention of Tersik or my name. Just... the curiosity of a private collector of Mandalorian culture."
"A good cover," Kleya approved. "There are quite a few of those in the galaxy. Wealthy eccentrics who collect artifacts and information about ancient cultures."
She returned to her desk and picked up a clean datapad.
"Give me a month," she said, starting to take notes. "Maybe less, if we're lucky. I'll start with the most reliable sources and proceed cautiously."
"Agreed," Alex stood up. "And Kleya... if you feel the matter is becoming too dangerous, back off. The information is important, but not so much that it's worth risking."
Kleya smiled—a rare and valuable smile from someone accustomed to hiding her emotions.
"Understood, chief. I'll be careful."
Alex headed for the exit, but stopped at the door.
"One more thing. If you find anything specific, don't try to make direct contact. Just give me the coordinates and all available information. I'll handle it from there."
"Understood," Kleya was already engrossed in planning, making notes on the datapad. "See you in a month."
Alex left the office, leaving her alone with the maps and schematics. Outside, the sun climbed higher, chasing away the last clouds. A new day, new opportunities.
Now, all that remained was to wait.
Alex returned to his office and inserted Kardis's chip into the terminal. The screen lit up, displaying a file menu.
He selected the first file—"Origins of the Way"—and began to read.