Five years earlier…
Kyolath’s return from his long imprisonment seemed to awaken a second childhood in Kellaro’s mother. Suddenly Dinui was smiling more, the worry line in her forehead all but smoothed away as her brown eyes danced and softened. It had been the first time she had seemed truly happy since the Sith had kidnapped his brother.
It was more bittersweet for Kellaro. Kyolath listened grimly as they told him about what happened to Brant, and halfway into the story, the young Mando hadn’t been able to help himself. The room started swimming and he was hiccuping his way through an ugly cry like he was no older than a few standard years.
Kyolath had crossed over to him immediately and embraced him, and though Kellaro had grown a lot since they had last seen each other, his father’s arms engulfed him. Kellaro only pushed away when the awkward hiccuping spell ended and he could look his dad in the eyes again.
“I know I shouldn’t be ungrateful,” Kellaro confessed, “but why did it have to be you? You were dead. He’s still alive. Will he ever come back to us?”
“Nothing is certain,” said Kyolath, looking much older all of a sudden, and Kellaro hated himself for his bitter words. “The Sith are not kind to their charges. You are old enough now to understand this. The Brant you knew… he is likely never coming home, son.”
“It’s not fair!” cried Kellaro. “I don’t want you! I got over you, but not him–!”
“Kellaro, that’s enough!” snapped his mother, the dancing spark in her eyes suddenly gone; the haunted look of long, lonely years returned. And somehow, that was all Kellaro’s fault too.
“It’s not fair!” he screamed, as if somehow that could make it better.
What followed was something that the hotheaded youngling knew well. He was sent to his quarters to calm down, then later his buir came to speak to him in serious tones about how he had misbehaved. Only, it was his father this time, not his mother, and he wasn’t altogether unkind.
“You have had to be the man of this household for a long time, and at a young age,” said Kyolath. “That is my role now. Your role is to go back to the growing up that you so desperately need to do.”
“But Mother never even talks about him,” Kellaro said as if he hadn’t heard Kyolath, though of course he had.
“His leaving was hard on her, too,” said Kyolath quietly. “She was forced to make a terrible choice that no parent should ever have to: the giving up of one child so that the other might live in peace.”
Kellaro snapped his head to look at his father in disbelief. “This is… my… f-f–”
“No,” said Kyolath, and though his voice was solid, there was the depth of the decade they had spent apart: years of concerns and fears and a constant mission to return home to his family. Kellaro heard it, and was comforted. “It is not your fault, or hers. Only that she feels guilty. Could she have saved you both? What life was she condemning Brant to? There is no way of knowing, but there was no other way. She loved you, both of you, and I’m sure she wishes as much as you and I that it had been your brother coming home today instead of me.”
“Y-you wish that too?”
“Yes,” said Kyolath. “Because that is what it means to be a parent: to make any sacrifice for your children. I made it when I held off the Eternal Empire; she made it when she left the life of a Mando’ade to look after you two. When you are grown and with a cyare of your own, you too may have to make such a choice.
“I am not mad at you, Kellaro. What happened to Brant is… terrible, and sad. But until we can reach him, you must leave the responsibility to us, and go on to grow into the brave young man that I know you are fast becoming.”
It was that memory that stalked his thoughts as Kellaro went about the daily chores of the camp. Clan Lok had soon found out that he had inherited the technical skills of his mother, and he was put to work repairing droids in the old Shaadlar’s hanger bay. Tinkering away in the dim light gave him lots of time for thinking, and Kellaro soon realized what bothered him so about Brant’s plans for his new family.
There was nothing of sacrifice in it, not like how Kyolath would have done for him or Kellaro. Only Sith greed.
“Father always said he gave up the Force in favor of his loved ones,” Kellaro said to no one, as he tinkered on a new probe droid, “but what about you, Brant? Do you really understand what it means to be a father…?”
Kellaro rubbed his eyes and sat back, blinking tiredly at the droid under his hands. The main work had been done for the day, and he had turned back to a hobby project he had been working on for months. The little hover droid was meant to he a gift for his younger sister, left an orphan after Brant had murdered their parents for the pleasure of his master. The probe was meant to be a shield generator and attack drone in one, to protect little Makkia from any threat — including that of her Sith brother.
“And do I?” Kellaro asked. At least Makkia wasn’t homeless: she still had him and Uncle Siikaris and the staff at Tegus’ ranch, but none of them, Kellaro included, would ever fill the void of her real mother and father.
Kellaro rubbed his face. He knew Aesdila’s children were bereft of their real father — fathers? — too, but if Brant wasn’t ready to parent them, if even Kellaro wasn’t ready despite his rearing Makkia — then who was?