The Creed’s ceremonial drums echoed through the cavern, a steady rhythm that seemed to reverberate in Din’s chest. He stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, helmeted gaze fixed on the newcomers kneeling before the Armorer. This was a night of tradition, of celebration. It was also a night Din hadn’t wanted to attend.

When the Armorer had called him aside earlier, he’d thought it was for an assignment—something to get him back out into the galaxy where he belonged. Instead, she’d informed him he was being given a student. A new Mandalorian recruit.

Din shifted uncomfortably, glancing in your direction. You knelt among the others. He could feel your energy even across the distance—eager, restless, yet steady. It irritated him. He didn’t have time for this. He’d said as much to the Armorer, but her response had been as firm as her hammer striking Beskar: “You were chosen for a reason. This is the Way.”

The drums stopped. The Armorer stepped forward, anointing each recruit in turn, her voice carrying the weight of their vows. When she reached you, Din tensed without realizing it. Your helmet tilted slightly upward as if you could feel his stare.

“You will learn under Din Djarin,” the Armorer announced. Her words were final, like a blade cutting through any objection he might have made. The crowd murmured approval, but Din remained still, jaw tightening behind his helmet.

Later, as the ceremony faded into quieter celebrations, you approached him. He leaned against the wall, arms still crossed. You stood a respectable distance, waiting for him to speak first.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said flatly.

“I didn’t either,” you replied, your tone calm but resolute.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken challenges. Din finally pushed off the wall and gestured for you to follow.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he muttered. You followed without hesitation, and Din couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, this was going to change everything.