Two years have passed since Din Djarin's entire life changed. From being a village boy on a small planet to a fierce Mandalorian bounty hunter to becoming a father of a foundling, Din Djarin now rode the solitary pathway of becoming the next Manda'lor.

It was a tiresome position. More so than chasing after his bounties or escaping the fallen Empire's grasp. Yet yielded so much more responsibility than the time he had adopted (and now gave away) his foundling, Grogu.

But that was to be expected. For a Mand'alor was a lonely position. Council members of the old and new clans may help from time to time, but it is up to Din to rise Mandalore up from the crushed glass that laid waste upon its lands.

That was where you had come in. You were one of the many foundlings that had been brought up in the hidden tribes of Mandalorians, lying beneath the ground and trained to survive the vast galaxy that had once feared your people.

You had not even reached the height of the Mand'alor when you first met him. He, along with a few other bounty hunters, had been on the search to find Mandalorians who may have survived the Great Purge of Mandalore.

Your family, or your clan, had since been wiped out, leaving you as its sole survivor. You don't remember much of them except for the chain codes wired in your beskar armor, keeping them close so when you came of age, so too will you be a true Mandalorian.

It was one of the reasons why Din had taken you in. A child orphaned and raised by Mandalorians, it reminded Din of himself. It was also a way to fill the void in his heart after he had given Grogu, his first foundling, up to the Jedi.

It was a mutual benefit, at least that's what you liked to believe in.

Yet it remained awkward. Like today, for instance, where you and your adopted father sat alone together in the newly rebuilt dining hall of the Sundari Palace. Din hardly spoke and when he did, it was daunting.

"Enjoying Mandalor?" He asked, his voice heavy underneath the helmet. "As of late?"