Prologue to the Dax Saga
The Weight of Two Paths
In the cold expanse of the galaxy’s edge, where the stars burned faint and the winds of war howled across barren moons, a lone Mandalorian walked a path no Creed had prepared him for. He was Dax Solus, a name heavy with the burden of his clan’s loss and his own haunting secret. Clad in blackened Beskar, his armor bore the scars of a thousand battles—some won, others survived. But his truest battle was fought within.
The Force had chosen him, unasked and unwanted. It whispered in the back of his mind, a relentless hum he could neither silence nor understand. Dax had never knelt to the Sith nor followed the Jedi’s teachings; the Force to him was a curse, an intruder that made him feel more alone among his people than any outsider ever could. To be Mandalorian was to trust in the strength of his armor, his weapons, and his resolve. But the Force had no place in the Creed, and it answered to no blade.
Now, he stalked through the ruins of a forgotten world, an ancient battlefield abandoned to time. His boots crunched against the dry, cracked earth as the twin moons above cast long shadows over his path. He had come here hunting ghosts—not the kind summoned by Jedi rituals, but the remnants of a war that had stolen his clan. Somewhere on this forsaken moon lay the truth, buried in the ruins of a Jedi outpost.
Dax paused at the edge of a crumbling structure, his T-visor scanning the jagged walls. His HUD flickered, highlighting the faint outline of a door ahead. His hand hovered over the hilt of his vibroblade as the weight of the Force pressed against him. It wasn’t like this on the battlefield—there, the Force surged as instinct, a flash of insight that guided his aim or warned him of an unseen attack. Here, it felt different. He could almost hear the echoes of a fight long past, as if the Force itself was pulling him into the memories of the dead.
“Keep your secrets,” he muttered, his voice distorted through the helmet. “I don’t need you.”
The door hissed open, revealing the remains of an old Jedi archive. Dax stepped inside, his rifle sweeping the room for threats. Dust hung in the air, stirred by his movement, and the faint glow of an ancient holocron caught his eye. It rested on a pedestal, untouched for decades.
The Force swirled around the holocron, tugging at him like a rope around his chest. He clenched his fist, his Beskar gauntlet groaning in protest. This was the source of the whispers, the reason he had come. His gloved hand reached out, hesitating just above the artifact. The Mandalorian Creed rang in his mind: Weapons are my religion. The enemy is my teacher. Strength is life.
But the Force offered something else, something the Creed couldn’t. He didn’t know if it was power, understanding, or damnation—it simply was. And no matter how much he resisted, it would not let him go.
A sound broke his thoughts—a scuff of boots against stone. Dax whirled, his rifle trained on the shadows. A group of bounty hunters emerged, their mismatched armor gleaming in the dim light. They were predators, like him, but they lacked his discipline. Their leader, a scarred Twi’lek with a vibro-ax slung over his shoulder, sneered through his helmet.
“Dax Solus,” the Twi’lek said, his voice oily and mocking. “The black-armored ghost. There’s a price on your head, Mandalorian. Drop the rifle, and we’ll take you in warm.”
Dax tilted his head, a faint chuckle rumbling through his modulator. “You should’ve brought more men.”
The first blaster bolt fired, but Dax was already moving. He ducked low, the Force rippling through him as if time slowed. His rifle barked twice, precise shots felling two of the hunters. With a roar, his jetpack ignited, propelling him into the fray. The Twi’lek swung his ax in a wild arc, but Dax met it with his gauntlet, the Beskar sparking against the blade.
In close combat, the Force was instinct—a subtle guide that pushed his body where his mind couldn’t. A vibroknife whizzed past his side, and he twisted to drive his own blade into the attacker’s chest. The last hunter fell with a cry, leaving Dax standing amid the wreckage, his chest rising and falling beneath the armor.
The holocron still pulsed behind him, its crimson light cutting through the dust-filled air. Dax turned back to it, the adrenaline of the fight fading into the hollow pull of the Force. He hated the way it made him feel—like something other than Mandalorian. But he couldn’t ignore it.
Picking up the holocron, Dax felt the weight of its knowledge, its temptation. Somewhere in its depths lay answers—not just to the betrayal of his clan, but to the question he had avoided his entire life. Could he be both? Mandalorian and something more?
As he stepped out into the moonlight, the stars seemed brighter, as if the galaxy itself waited for his next move. Dax clipped the holocron to his belt and walked toward his ship, the Varactyl’s Claw.
“I don’t need your lessons,” he muttered to the Force, more to convince himself than anything else. “I have my own way.”
And yet, deep down, he knew that both his Creed and the Force would shape the path ahead. How they would coexist was a question only the galaxy could answer. For now, Dax Solus walked alone, carrying the weight of two worlds on his shoulders.
The Whispering Shadows
The twin moons of Vordak hung low in the smoky sky, their pale light fractured by the jagged ruins of an ancient Mandalorian outpost. Spires of blackened durasteel and crumbling permacrete jutted like broken bones from the earth, casting angular shadows over the desert floor. Dax Solus stood motionless, shrouded in his blackened Beskar armor. The faint hum of a kyber crystal pulsed from the hilt at his belt—a forbidden artifact for someone like him, a Mandalorian who had strayed too far from his creed.
The night was alive with tension. His T-shaped visor scanned the horizon, its dark surface reflecting the eerie glow of distant fires. A faint breeze carried the scent of ash and sulfur—remnants of a battle that had reduced this once-proud enclave to ruins. Yet Dax felt something more, an undercurrent in the Force that made the hairs on his neck rise beneath his helmet.
A whisper, faint and dissonant, brushed against his mind.
They are coming.
His gauntleted fists clenched, the darkness within him stirring like a restless beast. “Not yet,” he muttered, his voice a low growl distorted by the helmet’s modulator. His crimson cape stirred in the wind as he turned toward the shattered temple at the heart of the ruins. Its jagged silhouette loomed like a warning against the night sky.
This temple wasn’t just another relic of Mandalore’s past. It held secrets older than the Republic, whispers of forbidden knowledge. His clan had spoken of it only in hushed tones. But the history mattered little to Dax now—only what the ruins could offer him.
The Force had chosen him, though he had never asked for it. It had saved him, cursed him, and ultimately driven him away from the only family he had known. He remembered the cold, unyielding voices of his clan leaders the day they banished him: The Force is an outsider’s burden, not ours.
And yet here I am, he thought bitterly, his hand brushing the hilt of his saber as he approached the temple gates.
The carvings on the gates were almost imperceptible beneath centuries of wear, but as his fingers traced the jagged lines, they ignited with a faint blue glow. The symbols were older than Mandalore, older even than the galaxy’s first empires, yet they resonated with him in a way he couldn’t explain.
“You’ll find nothing here but death,” a voice interrupted, sharp and mocking.
Dax’s hand instinctively dropped to his weapon as he turned. A figure stepped from the shadows, her crimson and black robes rippling like liquid shadow. Amber eyes gleamed beneath the hood of a Sith. Her lightsaber snapped to life with a predatory hiss, casting a blood-red glow over the ruins.
Dax didn’t draw his weapon. Not yet. His stance betrayed readiness, his stillness like the calm before a storm. “Death doesn’t frighten me,” he replied, his voice even. “But if you think this is going to end well for you, you’re more foolish than you look.”
Her lips curled into a smirk. “Ah, Mandalorians—always so bold. But you’re no ordinary warrior, are you? The Force betrays you, even in silence.”
Dax tilted his head, his visor reflecting the glow of her saber. “If you’re here to stop me, make your move. I don’t have time for theatrics.”
The Sith chuckled, her blade humming in the still air. “Stop you? Oh, Mandalorian, I’m here to offer you something greater than you’ve ever dreamed.”
“I’ve already paid the price for power once,” he said, his voice cold. “I’m not interested in another debt.”
“Then you’ll die ignorant.”
With a feral snarl, she lunged. Her saber arced toward him, a streak of crimson fury. Dax sidestepped, fluid and precise, his hand darting to his hilt. The blade ignited with a deep, menacing hum, its dark red glow matching the ferocity of his opponent’s. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, the light of their duel carving wild shadows across the ruins.
The Sith pressed her assault, her strikes coming fast and relentless. Dax twisted his blade, deflecting a diagonal slash aimed at his chest. The heat of her saber burned close to his armor, the air shimmering with the raw energy of their clash.
The wind howled through the ruins, whipping dust into blinding plumes. Dax used it to his advantage, pivoting into the cover of a shattered column. The Sith followed, her movements a deadly dance. She feinted left, then struck from above, her blade hissing as it scorched the stone.
Dax countered, his saber meeting hers in an explosion of sparks. “Who sent you?” he demanded, his voice sharp.
“Sent me?” she laughed, her blade whirling in a crimson arc. “Mandalorian, you think too small. I came here for the same reason you did. Power. Knowledge. And unlike you, I’ll claim it.”
Her hand shot forward, and a jagged bolt of Force lightning erupted from her fingertips. Dax raised his saber, absorbing the attack, but the raw energy forced him back a step. She pressed the advantage, her strikes faster, more erratic.
He sidestepped a downward slash, delivering a gauntleted punch to her ribs. She staggered, snarling, but her ferocity only grew. The ground trembled beneath them as she raised her hand again. Massive chunks of stone and metal tore free, hovering ominously before hurtling toward him.
Dax didn’t flinch. He reached out with the Force, stopping the debris mid-flight. The effort strained him, the tremor in his arms betraying the raw power it took. With a grunt, he hurled the stones aside, sending them crashing into the ruins.
As the temple began to collapse, fissures glowing with an ominous red light snaked across the floor. Dax deactivated his saber and grabbed the Sith by the arm. “We need to move.”
She resisted for a moment, her pride warring with her survival instinct, but the ground gave a violent shudder, and she relented. They sprinted through the collapsing ruins, their shadows flickering against the chaos around them.
Outside, they emerged into the pale light of dawn as the temple caved in behind them. Dust and ash filled the air, the roar of destruction drowning out all sound. The Sith stumbled, coughing, but Dax let her go.
“You should have let me die,” she rasped, her voice raw.
“I’ve done enough killing for one day,” Dax said, his tone flat.
For a moment, she stared at him, her amber eyes searching his visor for something. Then, without another word, she disappeared into the shadows.
Dax stood alone, his cape fluttering in the wind. The encounter had left him with more questions than answers, and as the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, he knew one thing with certainty: the darkness wasn’t something to fear.
It was something to wield.