The galaxy was quiet.
Too quiet.
After the flames of war, the screams of Order 66, and the announcement of a new Empire, silence fell like a suffocating shroud. But in the voids between stars, among the broken survivors and hidden systems, the embers of resistance still glowed and Serion, the architect behind the shadows, continued his quiet ascension.
Zereth Prime – The Heart of Reforging
The Planetary Forge groaned with life. Where once it had been a simple world, it was now a living monument to fusion: the Star Forge recovered from the forgotten reaches of space now fused into the planet's core, pulsing with ancient Rakatan power and Serion's own technology.
Cities of steel bloomed like volcanic blossoms. Orbital rings churned with shipyards, and droid legions were birthed without end.
Serion stood atop the highest spire, watching molten light swirl beneath the surface.
Ahsoka knelt nearby, surrounded by floating shards of crystal and metal. Her fingers were outstretched. Her eyes burned not orange like a Sith, but a strange deep violet, caught between shadow and clarity.
"The Force obeys your will," Serion said, his voice like a blade wrapped in silk. "But your fear still whispers. You must silence it."
Ahsoka's hand trembled. A crystal shattered. Then another. Until only one remained, spinning slowly before her.
"I'm not afraid," she said coldly.
"Then prove it."
She opened her eyes fully and clenched her hand. The final crystal pulsed, harmonized with her heartbeat deep, controlled, furious. It snapped into the hilt she'd forged from Mandalorian iron, humming to life.
A purple blade ignited.
Serion nodded once.
"Lesson one is complete."
Coruscant – The Eyes of the Empire
In the Senate Rotunda, once a place of debate and diplomacy, the Imperial symbol now hung vast and silver above the central podium. Red-armored Shock Troopers lined the walkways. Holo-posters of Palpatine adorned entire walls—depicting him as savior, protector, and eternal ruler.
Padmé Amidala walked through the palace under tight guard. Her resurrection had been kept secret from the public, and even the Senate was told she had "vanished."
But she remembered her death. The choking. The shadows. The pull back to life.
And Anakin… changed.
He sat beside her now, his face unreadable, dressed in dark robes. No longer Jedi. Not yet Vader.
"Do you still believe in the Republic?" he asked suddenly.
"I believe in the people," she whispered. "Not the systems. Not… this."
"Then let it die, Padmé," Anakin said, eyes distant. "Let it die with the Jedi."
"I saw the way you looked at Palpatine," she replied softly. "He owns you."
Anakin turned away.
Mustafar – The Ghost of Betrayal
The factories were now silent. The Separatists were dead. But in the halls where Anakin had slain them, Maul stood silently, cloaked in shadow. Unseen, overlooked, dismissed.
He had followed the whispers of the Dark Side here. The Star Forge had been taken before he arrived. Palpatine's hand moved faster than his own.
But Maul was not finished. The galaxy had cast him aside too many times.
"There is always another path," he muttered. "Always another revenge."
And in the deeper tunnels, he began his own construction—a Dark Engine, a forbidden fusion of Dathomirian alchemy and droid tech. A mockery of the Forge. A seed of vengeance.
Dagobah – The Last Grandmaster
Yoda sat in meditation amid the fog and rot of the Dagobah swamp. The will of the Force rippled through him like a storm in still water.
He had sealed the Jedi Temple vaults. He had failed to stop Sidious. Now, all that remained was the future.
"Clouded… the destiny is," he murmured. "But not lost."
Ghostly echoes of fallen Jedi flickered behind his closed eyes. Ki-Adi. Aayla. Plo Koon. Windu.
But also… others. Serion. Ahsoka. Anakin.
"A balance… redefined. Or destroyed."
Outer Rim – The Sparks of War
With Separatist assets seized, and Imperial factories booming, the first wave of Imperial Star Destroyers launched into the void.
Entire systems fell without resistance.
Palpatine addressed the galaxy once more, his voice carried through every holonet:
"Today marks the birth of true peace. No longer will we be torn apart by petty ideologies or dying traditions. The Empire is the future. Strong. Orderly. Eternal."
But as his image faded, other signals began to flicker across hidden channels.
Bail Organa, in the shadows of Alderaan.Mon Mothma, in a locked Senate chamber.Ashen Jedi, on dying ships, whispering of rebellion.
The fire wasn't gone. It had merely dimmed.
Zereth Prime – The Architects of Tomorrow
Back on Zereth Prime, Serion stood before a massive holomap of the known galaxy. Entire sectors were marked—Imperial strongholds, unaligned territories, black sites, dead worlds.
"The Mandalorians will rebuild," he said aloud. "The Forge will feed them. The Jedi are scattered, the Sith bloated with false victory."
Ahsoka approached.
"What's our next move?"
Serion turned, eyes glinting with unspoken intent.
"We make sure the future belongs to no empire… no prophecy… no chosen one. Only to those who shape it."