Though not in death or glory, the struggle between Master Yoda and Darth Sidious had concluded in the raw, harsh survival of two mighty powers that had molded the galaxy for centuries. Now damaged and cratered, the Senate chamber mirrored the quiet of a tipping point.
Standing in the broken room, Sidious breathed regularly and wore torn robes but his face was twisted in a smile of conquering malice. Though Yoda had fled, his withdrawal revealed the reality. The Jedi were shattered. Their biggest warrior was gone. The Sith governed presently.
The Republic died as day broke over Coruscant, its light no longer golden but bruised and chilly. The Galactic Empire ascended in its stead, born of deception, fear, and blood.
The Tomb of the Republic
The Senate gathered not to debate but to celebrate. Few voices challenging Palpatine's sweeping reforms were lost beneath orchestrated cheers, threats, and clone boot thunder. With courteous applause and a chorus of manufactured allegiance, democracy perished.
Fortress of the Sith
The fresh Darth Vader stood in silence within Palpatine's towering fortress atop the Imperial Palace on Coruscant. There were no machines breathing for him. He was a whole warrior cloaked in dark robes—the living representation of Sith rebirth—not a damaged vessel in amor.
But yet…
His heart, however, was far from whole.
"You are reborn, my apprentice," Sidious declared, standing before him, hands clasped within crimson sleeves. "An instrument of order... and vengeance."
Anakin did not kneel. He stood, fists clenched, still reeling from what he had seen.
"You wonder about Padmé," Sidious said smoothly, his voice like poison wrapped in silk. "She lives."
Anakin's breath caught. "What?"
"She died in childbirth. But I... I brought her back," Sidious said, savoring every word. "The ancient arts are powerful, my apprentice. Powerful enough to seize from death what nature has claimed."
A black curtain was drawn aside by a silent acolyte.
Padmé stepped forward.
She moved as if waking from a long dream. Her eyes—once filled with compassion—were dull, glassy, locked in a state of quiet servitude. Her mind, though intact, was shackled by dark bindings. Her presence in the Force was dim—alive, but twisted.
Anakin took a step back, grief and fury warring within him. "What have you done?"
"I gave you everything you asked for," Sidious said. "Power. A path to save the one you loved. And in return, I gained your loyalty."
It was a bond no chains could match. Anakin had traded everything for her—and though she stood before him, it was not the woman he had once held.
And yet... he could not walk away.
The Empire Rises
Across the galaxy, the transition was swift and ruthless. The Republic died with thunderous applause. Sidious declared himself Emperor to a roaring Senate, and the last embers of democracy were snuffed out.
The former Separatist systems—abandoned, defeated, or deceived—were folded into the new Galactic Empire. Their leaders were dead, their armies in disarray. Count Dooku's betrayal had served its purpose, and now Vader replaced him, far more loyal and far more dangerous.
Sidious turned to the future. He summoned his architects and scientists and enforcers. The plans for the Death Star moved forward. Fleets of Star Destroyers took shape above Kuat and Fondor. Across countless worlds, clone factories gave way to academies designed to produce absolute obedience.
Fear would hold the Empire together.
Vader's Growth
Darth Vader did not resist his new path—but he never stopped watching.
He trained relentlessly, far beyond what his master demanded. In the solitude of the Sith archives, he studied tomes that spoke of immortality, of essence transfer, of soul-forging. The Force whispered to him constantly—of power, of pain, of possibilities.
He became more than just a warrior. He became a seeker.
Padmé's existence—unnatural, trapped—was a wound in his soul. But it was also a reason to grow stronger. In silence, in secret, he vowed: One day, I will break the chains that bind you. One day, I will defy death completely.
And when that day came, Sidious would fall.
The Shackles of the Present
Vader often stood outside Padmé's chamber—watching, never entering. She remained docile, a guest and a prisoner both. Sidious ensured she was protected, but also kept within his shadow. Her reanimation bound her will to him; her presence served only one purpose—to anchor Vader, to remind him daily what he had gained... and what he had lost.
The galaxy feared Vader. He was the Empire's iron hand, crushing dissent, purging survivors of the Jedi. But inside, beneath the armor and robes, Anakin Skywalker's fire still burned.
And that fire would not be extinguished forever.
Across the Stars
Elsewhere, seeds of resistance took root. Yoda, deep in exile, reached into the Force. He whispered warnings and teachings to the few Jedi still hiding in the shadows.
Senators like Bail Organa and Mon Mothma began to form covert networks, quietly resisting the tightening grip of imperial rule.
The Jedi Temple, once a beacon of hope, lay cold and silent. The Sith ruled from its ashes.
And above them all, watching, planning, manipulating—Sidious sat upon his throne.