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The temple had been silent for over one hundred years, its gaudy marble floors a testament to the hubris of its former occupants as it now sat in dust and decay. The Mandalorian had much to learn of the history of the Force and Jedi, and this was as good a place to start as any, however those books were not the ones he was reading. As he finished the final sentence, he squeezed his eyes closed and willed away the tears. Thumbing through the pages he’d hoped to find comfort in, he only found himself growing frustrated. He’d been searching for this for too long. There had to be a way.
“Young one,” one of the ghosts whispered as he reached out through the Force, having felt the Mandalorian’s despair. “You’ve looked through this text cover to cover one hundred times. What you’re searching for isn’t here.”
“You’ve insisted on not being helpful, so I have to look somewhere,” the Mandalorian said through gritted teeth.
The ghost’s face fell in a sigh, tucking his hands into his robes and sitting down at the chair across from the Mandalorian. After a pause, he spoke carefully, regretfully, “I’ve told you the answer, it’s just… it’s just not what you want to hear.”
He slammed his hand down onto the table, his claws gripping into the wood. Hot tears that he could no longer control fell down his cheeks. “I need to talk to him.”
“He was not Force-sensitive, he can’t--”
“By the time I was old enough to realize, he was…” The Mandalorian choked on his memories, the pain in his gut. “I need to thank him. I never got the chance to thank him.”
“I’m sorry, but--”
“I miss him all the time, I really need to talk to him,” the Mandalorian pleaded desperately. “I can talk to you and you’re dead!”
“I’m different, I was a Jedi Master,” the ghost sighed as he spoke, a pained look on his face. “Your father was not Force sensitive, he cannot return to speak to you as a Force ghost.”
“You don’t know that, the Jedi didn’t know a lot of things,” the Mandalorian rebutted breathlessly, gesturing to the temple around them.
The ghost leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, but Din Djarin is gone.”
In an instant, the Mandalorian jumped on the table and stood so that he was eye to eye with the specter.
“Don’t you dare say his name,” the Mandalorian seethed, his voice suddenly icy cold and dangerous. The ghost had nothing to fear in death, but he reacted all the same with a jolt and look of concern on his face. “Leave me.”
“I will always be in the Force, young one,” the ghost replied softly as he faded into the air, like a cloud of smoke.
The Mandalorian dropped his shoulders, his heart pounding against his ribs. He sat back down and attempted to calm himself. Silence threatened to fall over the temple once more, save for the unbidden sobs and whimpers echoing inside his beskar helmet. His whole body trembled in rage, in frustration, in grief.
I miss him everyday. I will never forget him for as many centuries as I live. I never realized what he did for me, what he sacrificed.
I want him to know that I’m grown. That I’m safe. That I learned everything I know and am from him. I am strong.
I want him to be proud of me. I want to know if I’m worthy. If I’m what he expected I would be.
I want him to know how much I love him.
There was so much he wanted to say.