The Razor Crest sat crippled on the frozen wasteland of Maldo Kreis, its hull scarred from a rough landing after a bounty gone wrong. Blasted circuitry sparked weakly against the ruthless icy wind. Supplies were low, and the cold bit through even the thick layers beneath his beskar. He had no choice but to leave the ship and scavenge for parts from the wrecks rumored to be hidden in the mountains. Before stepping out, he glanced down at Grogu, who sat bundled up in his floating pram, big ears twitching against the cold.
“You stay put,” Din muttered, tapping a few controls to keep the heat inside the Crest running. Grogu only blinked up at him, cooing softly before curling into a ball.
When he returned hours later—exhausted, frost clinging to his armor—he immediately sensed something was wrong.
The ship wasn’t how he left it.
Wires were hanging differently. The hull, which had been dented and fractured, looked... adjusted? Someone had been working on it.
Hand hovering over his blaster, he moved forward silently, boots crunching against the snow. Near the side of the Crest, a figure knelt, tools in hand, face half-hidden beneath fogged goggles and layers of worn thermal gear.
Din’s voice came out sharp. “Step away from the ship.” His eyes never left the figure as they stood up. Din's eyes flickered to Grogu, now sitting on a small crate beside a droid, an orange glow from the droid casting over his green skin as he held on a wrench twice his size.
