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.
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