=== Sebastian – Years Before ===
The night was quiet save for the crackling of the fire. A faint wind tugged at the banners of the Obsidian Crusaders camp, and the ruins of a nameless world loomed like broken teeth on the horizon. Their mission was all but finished, yet neither Sebastian nor Jarek had retired to sleep. Instead, the two warriors sat across from one another, the flames between them casting long shadows that danced across the rocks and the surface of their armor.
Sebastian rested his storm shield against a boulder and leaned back, weary but restless. His eyes traced the shifting firelight across Jarek's helmet, the T-shaped visor like an unblinking sentinel at the man's side. For hours, the Mandalorian captain had been silent, methodically maintaining the Darksaber, its black blade now dormant. At last, Sebastian broke the silence.
"Tell me, Jarek," Sebastian said, his voice gruff but curious. "You've fought at my side for a year now. You've bled for the Crusade, led men with unshakable will. Yet you've always kept your people close to your chest. I want to know more. About Mandalore. About where you came from."
For a moment, Jarek did not answer. His hands moved as he set the saber down next to his helmet. Firelight revealed the rugged lines of his ebony face, his black beard beginning to gray at the sides.
"You truly wish to know?" Jarek asked at length.
"I do," Sebastian replied firmly. "You are my second. I would understand the forge that tempered you."
Jarek gave a small nod, staring into the fire. "Then… I'll tell you of Mandalore. My people's home. Our cradle, and our curse."
He drew a breath, then began speaking.
"Mandalore is a world scarred by centuries of war. It has deserts that stretch endless, cities of steel and bones, bones of warriors who fought for causes long forgotten. Once, we were a people united under Mand'alor, the ruler of all clans. We fought not for profit, nor for survival, but for the thrill of battle, for glory, for the bond of our creed. The Resol'nare, the Six Actions, they bind us: to wear our armor, to speak our language, to defend our families and tribes, to raise our young as Mandalorians, to rally to our leader, and to fight when called. That is what it meant to be Mando'ade."
Sebastian leaned forward, drawn into the firelit tale. "And yet… you speak in the past tense."
Jarek's lips twisted in a faint grimace. "Because unity died long ago. Civil wars shattered us. Pride devoured us. When the Jedi came with their Republic, war broke out, which they eventually won. Many of our people bent the knee to peace. But others… others refused to abandon the old ways."
He continued.
"The Death Watch were a group of Mandalorians who believed we should conquer the galaxy, as in the days of old. They despised the weak, despised the pacifists. Death Watch spilled Mandalorian blood across Mandalorian soil, brother against brother, clan against clan. My clan… was caught in the middle. I was younger then, when I joined, but I remember the fires. The raids. The banners of blue and black, their cries of 'Mandalore will rise again' as we slaughtered our own kin."
Jarek gave a humorless chuckle. "Even when Mandalore itself was pacified, Death Watch found refuge in the shadows, in foreign wars. Many became mercenaries. Some hunted for credits, others for the sheer thrill of bloodshed. That is why the galaxy sees us as killers-for-hire. Mandalorians, they say, are nothing but blades for the highest bidder."
His voice grew quieter, tinged with bitterness. "Perhaps they are not wrong. Too many clans abandoned honor for survival. They became bounty hunters. Mercenaries. Dogs fighting for scraps. I… am one such as they."
Sebastian studied his second-in-command in silence for a long moment. The fire popped between them, sending a shower of sparks into the night. "But no longer. You have been called to a higher purpose. You are Jarek. Captain of the Obsidian Crusaders, Leader of warriors who fight for the glory of the God Emperor."
Jarek looked at his Lord.
"There is no higher calling than to serve humanity. No higher honor than to fight for Him on Holy Terra." The Black Templar said.
The Mandalorian nodded slowly, a shadow of pride returning to his eyes. "Aye. I feel no greater honor than to serve at your side, Lord."
He reached out, picked up his helmet, and turned it in his hands. The firelight gleamed across the visor. "Still… I cannot deny the blood on our hands. Death Watch tainted us. Amd the galaxy will never forget."
"Then let them remember you differently. Let them speak of Jarek and the Crusaders, who stood against nightmares when no others dared. Let them see that Mandalorian steel and faith can cut down even the vilest of foes. You are not defined by the sins of your people. You can carve your own legacy." The Black Templar said.
Jarek met his gaze, and for a moment.
"…Perhaps," Jarek said at last, his tone softer. "Perhaps."
The fire cracked and spat between them, throwing sparks up into the alien night. Sebastian leaned forward, resting his armored forearms over his knees, his gaze fixed on Jarek.
"Tell me something," Sebastian said after a pause, his voice low. "That blade you carry. What does it mean to your people? To you?"
For a long moment, Jarek didn't respond. His eyes drifted to the Darksaber, its hilt wrapped in dark beskar, lying next to him. He ran a calloused gloved thumb along the ridges.
"The Darksaber," Jarek began slowly. "Forged a thousand years ago by Tarre Vizsla, the only Mandalorian ever taken into the Jedi Order."
Sebastian blinked, tilting his head. "A Mandalorian... Jedi?" He let out a short, disbelieving chuckle. "Those fools?."
Jarek allowed himself the barest curve of a smile, but his eyes never left the hilt. "When he died, the Jedi kept this blade in their temple. But my people... we took it back. Stole it, some would say. Reclaimed it, others would. It passed through clan to clan, Vizsla to Vizsla, until it became something greater than a relic. It became a symbol. Of power. Of rule. Of Mandalore itself," Jarek answered, finally raising his gaze.
The firelight danced across his features, hard and scarred, but his eyes gleamed with a strange pride. "Whoever holds this blade has the right to rule our people. Not through inheritance, not through decree, but through strength. Through combat. The Darksaber is not given. It is won. And to win it is to claim the right to lead all of Mandalore."
Sebastian sat back slightly, his jaw tightening as he studied the weapon. "So you're telling me, that piece of ancient steel makes me... what? A king? I killed the last man who held it."
Jarek chuckled at that, a dry, humorless sound. "It makes you Mandalore the Uniter. Mandalore the Destroyer. Titles, names, legends, our people have had many. But it's never about crowns or thrones. It's about the spirit of the warrior who holds it. To us, the Darksaber is not just a blade. It is Mandalore. It carries the weight of our ancestors, of every war we've fought, every city we've burned, every stand we've made against outsiders who tried to break us. It is a promise. A curse. And a challenge."
Sebastian leaned back again, eyes narrowing. "So I am Mandalore?"
"You are." The man said before holding it out towards him.
The Black Templar looked at the blade held out to him before shaking his head.
He reached to his side. "I have my own blade." He said, bringing out his powersword and planting its tip into the sand.
He gestured at the blade.
"Carry it in my name. Carry it, and use it to bring your people back to the Imperium."
Jarek set the Darksaber across his knees, staring at its dormant hilt as though he could feel the weight of the responsibility shifting onto his shoulders. "I will do my best, Lord."
=== Sebastian The Present ===
The transport ship's engines thrummed with a steady, low hum, a constant vibration that filled the silence of the cargo bay. It was not the sound of victory, nor of triumph. It was the sound of survival. And survival had never felt so bitter.
Sebastian sat on a cold metal bench, armored legs spread, head bowed, shoulders heavy beneath the weight of loss. His storm shield, scarred, battered, and pitted with scorch marks, rested in its locking rack to his left, the same shield that had deflected blows meant to kill him countless times. To his right, laid neatly across the bench, was the broken half of his power sword. The once-proud blade of his crusade, now nothing more than a shattered relic. It reflected him all too well: incomplete, fractured, but not yet finished.
But it was what lay in the center of his massive hand, clutched so tightly that his gauntleted knuckles strained white, that drew his gaze most. The Darksaber. Its hilt was cold, heavier than it should have been, as though the weapon itself mourned Jarek's sacrifice.
Across from him, on the deck of the transport, were the shrouded forms of his men. Black sheets covered them, each bearing the crest of the Obsidian Crusaders in stark white. Their bodies had been laid with reverence, side by side in rigid rows. But at the center, raised slightly higher, was Jarek.
His second-in-command. His… little brother. The man who had served with undying loyalty, who had never wavered in the face of duty or devotion, who had looked Death in the eyes, and spat in its face. Now he lay still. Cold. His helmet was laid atop his chest, and his face was hidden beneath the veil that covered him.
Sebastian bowed his head lower, pressing the Darksaber hilt to his forehead.
The ship lurched slightly as it cut through hyperspace, but Sebastian did not move. He sat there, eyes closed, listening to the silence. Every thrum of the engines seemed to mock him.
Slowly, his gaze lifted to the weapon in his hand. Its history was one of conquest and leadership, a symbol of a people who had fought and bled for centuries. Jarek had carried it for the Obsidian Crusaders, for the Imperium, for him, his Lord.
Sebastian clenched the weapon tighter. "You carried this burden with pride, Jarek," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. "And now… now it falls to me. I swear to you, I will not let it rest. I will bathe its length in the blood of our enemies."
The stump of his left arm ached beneath its temporary bindings, a hollow reminder of what he had lost. But that pain was nothing compared to the hollow in his chest. He stared down the line of shrouded bodies, his vision blurring at the edges. These men had followed him into fire and ruin, and he had not brought them back alive. But that was part of duty. To die for the Emperor. And they had fulfilled their purposes with pride.
He reached out with his right hand, and touched the shroud over Jarek's chest. "I will never forget you," Sebastian said, voice breaking for the first time. "Any of you. It was… an absolute blessing from the Emperor to serve alongside you all."
The ship lurched as it dropped out of hyperspace, the sudden shift making the cargo bay lights flicker. Through the viewport above the ramp, the fractured plains of Mandalore stretched out like a scarred battlefield frozen in time, ash-colored wastes, jagged ridges, and domes that housed the remnants of a warrior people who had once threatened the galaxy.
Sebastian rose from the bench slowly, every movement stiff and sore as the shuttle landed inside Sundari.
The ramp shuddered, then lowered with a grinding hiss of hydraulics. Dust swept inside, lifting some of the shrouds for a moment before resting them back over the bodies of the fallen.
At the bottom of the ramp, Raxor and Maximus waited.
Sebastian descended the ramp slowly. When he reached the bottom, his brothers bowed their heads.
Raxor was the first to speak, his voice low, like molten rock grinding beneath the surface. "Brother…"
Sebastian looked at his Brothers. "I am… alive," he said at last, his voice raw. "That will have to be enough."
Maximus studied him with those piercing Ultramarine eyes, then laid a hand on his shoulder. "Being alive is enough."
Sebastian turned his head slightly, his gaze drifting back up the ramp to the cargo bay where the bodies lay in silent rows. "He saved my life, Maximus. I stared as death descended upon me, and he stopped it. He fought where I could not. He gave his life for me." His voice shook for a moment, but he forced it steady. "I will not allow his memory to fade. I want his burial to be fit for one of my own chapter. He was Mandalorian, yes. But he died a Templar's death."
Raxor's gaze softened, and he inclined his head. "You wish me to craft the pyre."
Sebastian nodded before raising the Darksaber so the black handle reflected across his faceplate. "And more. Can it be done?"
Raxor's armored fingers brushed the edge of his chin in thought, the craftsman within him weighing possibilities. "I will need to study it first. This weapon… It is… unlike any I have known. I've wanted to study a weapon like this for years now." His eyes narrowed. "I can do what you ask, brother. In the meantime, see to your wounds. Honor your captain with the rites. And let me work."
Sebastian dipped his head in respect and thanks. "Very well. Then it shall be so."
The silence lingered for a time, broken only by the wind scouring the dust around their boots. It was Maximus who broke it, his voice carrying a faint, wry tone that felt like a crack of light in the darkness.
"You know…" he said, rolling his shoulders, "I'm beginning to see a pattern. First Raxor. Then Bo, and now Sebastian." He smirked faintly, though it never reached his eyes. "I'm starting to wonder when fate's going to come for my left hand. I'd better start practicing my swordplay one-handed."
Raxor snorted, the sound like a low rumble of magma. "Be grateful you're an Ultramarine. You'd probably write a book about it and make it sound noble."
Sebastian exhaled through his nose, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Careful what you jest about, brother. The galaxy has a cruel sense of humor. Its author just might make an opportunity."
Maximus tilted his head skyward, eyes narrowing as though he could see the Entity himself grinning somewhere in the stars. "Then I shall be ready. But if it does come for me…" He gestured toward Sebastian's missing appendage. "…I'll make sure to keep my right arm. Need to keep the theme up."
For the first time since Jarek's death, Sebastian let out a quiet laugh. It was hollow, worn, but it was something. He looked again at the Darksaber in his hand, then back toward the ship where the fallen lay.
"Enough talk," he said quietly. "We have duties to fulfill and a captain to bury. Let us see him honored as he deserves. Then we will speak."
And with that, the three of them turned, brothers reunited once more.
===
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