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Chapter 8 - Chapter 8 – Blood and Beskar

The first light of dawn spilled weakly over the jagged horizon of Forge-Hell 3V. The scorched plains, still marked by last night's battle, seemed almost to pulse with silent anticipation. The Mandalorian encampment stirred — a living hive of warriors readying for the trials yet to come.

Dren Vheyla stood atop a ridge overlooking the camp, his beskar armor dark and scarred but polished to a fierce gleam. Around him, the clans gathered — young recruits fresh from summoning halls, seasoned warriors sharpening blades, and elders sharing grim wisdom beneath heavy cloaks.

The weight of leadership pressed down on him like the harsh desert sun. Every life lost, every choice made — they all rested on his shoulders.

The Morning Muster

Drums beat a steady rhythm, echoing across the valley. The sound was more than a call to arms — it was a declaration of defiance, a reminder of who they were. Mandalorians, bound by blood and honor, survivors of countless wars.

Dren walked among his people, exchanging brief nods and encouraging words. His presence alone stirred a quiet flame of hope. He stopped by a group of new recruits, their armor fresh and eyes wide with uncertainty.

"Trust your training," he said quietly. "Beskar will protect your flesh, but your heart will carry you through the fire."

Private Council

Later, Dren entered the council tent where the clan leaders awaited. The air was thick with tension.

The eldest of the clans, Lord Koss Vizsla, greeted him with a curt nod.

"Mand'alor. We speak not just of battle today but of survival. Our clans strain under these endless wars."

Dren's voice was calm but firm.

"I know the burden we share. We are scattered, but not broken. We must act as one — for Mandalore's future depends on unity."

Lady Vela Kryze leaned forward, eyes sharp.

"Unity means sacrifice. Some clans cannot afford to lose warriors or resources like others. How do you propose we balance this?"

Dren met her gaze steadily.

"By honest conversation and shared burdens. I will meet each clan leader privately — hear their concerns, offer support. This war will not be won by one clan alone."

One-on-One: The Viszla Negotiation

That afternoon, Dren met Lord Koss Viszla in a quiet tent illuminated by a single holo-lamp.

Viszla's rough voice broke the silence.

"Your raids have disrupted the enemy, Mand'alor. But my warriors question if your strategies risk too many lives."

Dren's expression did not waver.

"Every life lost is a wound to my soul. But waiting means death for all of us. We strike now or face extinction later."

Viszla grunted, nodding slowly.

"Then you have my support — but know this. My clan watches closely."

Command on the Frontline

As the day wore on, Dren donned his helmet and led a small strike team to scout enemy positions near a critical supply route.

The terrain was harsh, riddled with jagged rocks and scarred earth. Blaster fire and distant explosions punctuated the tense silence.

Dren moved with purpose, signaling his team forward. His voice was a low whisper through the comms.

"Eyes sharp. We disrupt their supplies, not their patrols. We move fast and vanish."

The team struck swiftly, disabling supply convoys and slipping away before reinforcements arrived.

Burden and Resolve

Back at camp that evening, Dren removed his helmet, sweat mixing with grime on his face. The quiet of the tent was a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

Sira entered quietly, placing a datapad before him.

"New intel from our scouts. The droids are shifting their strategy. We must prepare for longer engagements."

Dren looked up, exhaustion deep in his eyes.

"Then we adapt. Mandalore will endure — no matter the cost."

For Mandalore.

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