Where is the door?
For Clan Praxor?
Asks a voice.
Has no choice.
Can’t…fathom it.
“I have…tasted defeat…”
She speaks to viewscreen.
It’s blank and black.
Turns to viewport.
Looks left, north.
All the same.
Out in space…
By the gates…
Back and forth…
She feels the Force.
But she’s not a Jedi.
Not remotely, not quite.
Neither is she a kind of Sith.
She is for all intents and purposes…
A Mandalorian…a woman…she just is.
Forged In Fire.
The words ring.
Anvil of clang.
Hammer of cling.
Stars between stars.
Every light just so far.
Abyss beneath so large.
An empty sea…an ocean.
A breathing ship…in motion.
The Unwavering.
How it can sing!
That one Crusader II-class corvette.
Driven and flown only by the best.
Those Mandalorians, true and born.
Of east and west, south and north.
Helmets on heads just like the rest.
True Mandalorians…put to the test.
Hammer on anvil…beating chest!
The smiths and the builders.
The hands and the healers.
The teachers who built hers.
She took warriors, trained more.
Opened gates, unlocked doors.
Now…Praxor…
Clad in red cape.
Gold on visor’s frame.
Gaze past port’s plate.
Beyond window frame.
Beyond south, before north.
Clad in red gold beskar—forged.
Where no Mandalorian has gone before…
“Captain.”
Called Krin.
On intercom.
She responds.
“What is it?”
“We’re approaching.”
The abyss…is bliss.
“Then take us in…”
Vengeance itches.
“To Ventooine.”
And she descends.
That bird in the sky.
Crusader in her chest.
The Unwavering flies!
Ventooine on the viewscreen.
Viewport—first south now north.
A black visor hides spread teeth.
Praxor is not smiling but grinning.
Beneath her feet are those mountains.
Hills…hills to me…hills to Mandalorians.
But they would not be ground into dust.
Not by the boots of hers, not by this one.
She had come to collect just one head.
From what she was told, what was said.
Here she would find her true enemy…
As wings spread down on Ventoooine.
Ratheon…
A woman thinks.
Can you hear me?
The Force blinks.
But a woman is weak.
She never learned a thing.
The Force was not her calling.
No…a Mandalorian was born for more.
This Mandalorian—Praxor—born for war.
Her hands, her shoulders, in fire were forged.
I am coming to end you, Endyr, then I will soar.
For Clan Praxor?
Asks a voice.
Has no choice.
Can’t…fathom it.
“I have…tasted defeat…”
She speaks to viewscreen.
It’s blank and black.
Turns to viewport.
Looks left, north.
All the same.
Out in space…
By the gates…
Back and forth…
She feels the Force.
But she’s not a Jedi.
Not remotely, not quite.
Neither is she a kind of Sith.
She is for all intents and purposes…
A Mandalorian…a woman…she just is.
Forged In Fire.
The words ring.
Anvil of clang.
Hammer of cling.
Stars between stars.
Every light just so far.
Abyss beneath so large.
An empty sea…an ocean.
A breathing ship…in motion.
The Unwavering.
How it can sing!
That one Crusader II-class corvette.
Driven and flown only by the best.
Those Mandalorians, true and born.
Of east and west, south and north.
Helmets on heads just like the rest.
True Mandalorians…put to the test.
Hammer on anvil…beating chest!
The smiths and the builders.
The hands and the healers.
The teachers who built hers.
She took warriors, trained more.
Opened gates, unlocked doors.
Now…Praxor…
Clad in red cape.
Gold on visor’s frame.
Gaze past port’s plate.
Beyond window frame.
Beyond south, before north.
Clad in red gold beskar—forged.
Where no Mandalorian has gone before…
“Captain.”
Called Krin.
On intercom.
She responds.
“What is it?”
“We’re approaching.”
The abyss…is bliss.
“Then take us in…”
Vengeance itches.
“To Ventooine.”
And she descends.
That bird in the sky.
Crusader in her chest.
The Unwavering flies!
Ventooine on the viewscreen.
Viewport—first south now north.
A black visor hides spread teeth.
Praxor is not smiling but grinning.
Beneath her feet are those mountains.
Hills…hills to me…hills to Mandalorians.
But they would not be ground into dust.
Not by the boots of hers, not by this one.
She had come to collect just one head.
From what she was told, what was said.
Here she would find her true enemy…
As wings spread down on Ventoooine.
Ratheon…
A woman thinks.
Can you hear me?
The Force blinks.
But a woman is weak.
She never learned a thing.
The Force was not her calling.
No…a Mandalorian was born for more.
This Mandalorian—Praxor—born for war.
Her hands, her shoulders, in fire were forged.
I am coming to end you, Endyr, then I will soar.