Andor creator reveals  why Andy Serkis did not return to the series

Fans were left hanging as Andor Season 1 finished with Kino Loy's memorable statement, "I can't swim," eager to find out what became of the guy who directed one of the most compelling prison break scenes in Star Wars history. Did he drown? Did he get caught? Has he discovered a means of survival? Viewers waited throughout Andor Season 2 for Andy Serkis to come back as Kino Loy, but it never materialized.

Series creator Tony Gilroy said that was very deliberate.

"Andy dropped the mic, man," Gilroy told The Hollywood Reporter.

For him, Kino’s ambiguous fate was the perfect ending. Gilroy argued that bringing him back would have undermined the emotional impact of that moment, turning an unsettling scene into a mere setup for a predictable comeback.

But why leave a character like Kino Loy behind? Why let one of the most compelling figures of Andor Season 1 disappear without closure? And what does that decision say about Gilroy’s vision for Andor and its approach to tragedy and sacrifice?

Why Andy Serkis did not return as Kino Loy

Kino Loy was one of the most compelling characters in Andor’s first season. A reluctant leader forced to choose between complacency and rebellion, Kino became a symbol of resistance in the bleak prison of Narkina 5.

His journey ended in that gut-wrenching moment when he told Cassian he couldn't swim, just as the inmates jumped to freedom—a line that resonated throughout the fandom as a bittersweet reminder that not every hero makes it out alive.

So why didn’t Kino return in Andor Season 2? Tony Gilroy made it clear that it was a deliberate choice.

"Andy dropped the mic, man," he said. "What am I going to do that’s going to be better than what we did? All it does is minimize that moment."

For Gilroy, Kino’s fate was more powerful left unresolved. Bringing him back, he argued, would risk turning a perfect, tragic ending into a cheap revival.

Gilroy’s approach aligns with the series’ overarching theme of sacrifice. Kino’s final scene encapsulates the brutal reality of rebellion. He led a prison break he couldn’t participate in, a hero trapped by circumstances he couldn’t escape.

The uncertainty of his fate amplifies that sacrifice, leaving audiences to ponder what happened to the man who dared to lead others to freedom without a way to save himself.

Rather than providing answers, Andor leans into the ambiguity, using Kino’s absence to reinforce the show’s darker, more realistic portrayal of resistance. Not every hero gets a triumphant return. Not every fight has a neat, heroic ending. And for Gilroy, that was the whole point.

Why Gilroy chose not to revisit Kino Loy

Tony Gilroy’s decision to leave Kino Loy’s fate ambiguous wasn’t just about preserving the impact of that final, devastating line. It was also about maintaining the thematic integrity of Andor.

"I didn’t want to have that sort of coincidental environment," Gilroy explained.

Bringing Kino back, he argued, would risk turning the harrowing prison break sequence into a setup for a predictable redemption arc.

For Gilroy, the power of Kino’s story lies in its abrupt, unresolved ending. Kino’s fate is left hanging, his ultimate survival or death a haunting question mark. And that’s precisely the point.

"It’s like the sister," Gilroy said, referencing Cassian’s missing sister from Andor Season 1. "People wanted to know if we’re going to resolve the sister. But she’s much more valuable to me for Cassian as an absence."

The same logic applies to Kino. His story is more potent as an absence, a ghostly reminder of the price of rebellion. By not resolving Kino’s fate, Gilroy underscores the brutality of the Empire’s grip and the cost of defiance. Kino was a man who led hundreds to freedom, only to be left behind, trapped by his own limitations.

Rather than weakening that moment with a follow-up, Gilroy lets it stand as a testament to the show’s uncompromising vision. Kino’s silence becomes a symbol of the countless voices lost to the Empire, the sacrifices that will never be acknowledged or avenged.

Other characters with destines left unresolved for narrative impact

While Kino Loy’s fate remains a haunting question mark, he is not the only character whose story was left deliberately unresolved in Andor. Tony Gilroy took a similar approach with several other key figures, choosing to prioritize thematic resonance over narrative closure.

Mon Mothma’s daughter was positioned as a potential pawn in her mother’s political maneuvers. By the end of the series, her future remains unclear. Is she trapped in a marriage that will further her mother’s political goals? Or will she become a true believer in Chandrilan orthodoxy, as hinted by Gilroy? The lack of closure forces viewers to grapple with the human cost of rebellion, much like Kino’s uncertain fate.

Cassian’s sister, Kerri, also vanished from the narrative after serving as a motivating force in the first season. While fans speculated she might resurface, Gilroy ultimately chose to leave her absence as a permanent void in Cassian’s life. It is a thematic echo of Kino’s fate, a loss that is more powerful left unaddressed, a scar that never quite heals.

Kino Loy’s disappearance becomes part of a broader narrative strategy in Andor, where unresolved fates serve as haunting reminders of the war’s collateral damage. Not every life has a neatly tied-up ending, and not every sacrifice is acknowledged. For Gilroy, that was always the point.

Conclusion: The weight of silence

Kino Loy’s fate remains one of the most gut-wrenching unresolved threads in Andor. By choosing not to revisit Andy Serkis’ character in Season 2, Tony Gilroy preserved the raw, tragic impact of that final moment on Narkina 5.

For Gilroy, Andor was never about tying up loose ends. It was about exploring the brutal, often unspoken cost of rebellion. Kino’s absence becomes a symbol of those lost in the fight, their fates left unknown, their sacrifices unrecognized. Kino’s silence echoes through the series, a story untold, a question unanswered.

In the end, Andor does not offer closure. It offers scars, absences, and silence. And sometimes, the silence says more than any return ever could.