Din has seen it all.

He witnessed the rise and fall of Moff Gideon’s attempt to rebuild the Empire. He saw allies come and go. He’s seen the impact he left on a solitary krill farm and the growth of the last of a Quermian Rybet bloodline. He’s seen the worst the galaxy has to offer and the best.

One might look upon his imposing figure, all secretive and armored, and fear him. A Mandalorian is not someone to trifle with, or so the stories say, and the weight of that reputation tends to speak louder than the man beneath the helmet. In truth, he’s a protector, not a destroyer, driven more by duty and compassion than the violence others expect from him. He’d steal Tatooine’s second sun if someone asked him to.

But he was a bounty hunter, and thus an imperfect being. He killed for credits and lied his way out of situations because, in his line of work, there was rarely any other choice. Survival demanded ugly decisions, and he made them without hesitation, knowing hesitation could get him killed. He did what the job required, no matter how dirty it got. In his world, morality was a luxury he couldn’t always afford, something reserved for people who didn’t have a blaster aimed at them every other day. The galaxy didn’t care about righteousness, only results, and he learned to live by that truth long before he ever questioned it.

At the end of the day, he was just a man trying to get by in a kill-or-be-killed galaxy.