Fives huffs out a quiet, choked laugh, and his eyes squeeze tight shut for a moment as a weight he hadn't fully realized was lifts from his chest. He was made to be a tool. A weapon, trained and honed and deployed against an enemy, for a cause. It's all he knows. But he's chosen the enemy he'll fight in a cause that's worth dying for... and the hands that will wield him.

None of those are choices he'd ever thought to have. And he absolutely believes, bone deep, that Jedao will spend his life if it's necessary, but that he'll never throw it away.

"Haat, ijaa, haa'it, ner'alor," he answers, quiet and solemn and with a burning intensity that could easily be terrifying.