Alderaan – The Silent Uprising
The towers of Aldera shimmered beneath the pale sun, peaceful and dignified. Yet within the ivory walls of the royal palace, rebellion was quietly being born.
Bail Organa stood before a private council chamber deep beneath the capital, away from the eyes of Imperial probes and informants. With him sat Mon Mothma, once a senator from Chandrila, now a hunted idealist. Their voices were low, urgent.
"The Jedi are gone," Bail said grimly, "but the darkness grows. Sidious has reshaped the Republic into a beast. Every world that defies him burns. Every senator that questions him vanishes."
Mon Mothma nodded, her voice sharp with conviction. "Then we must become more than voices. We must become a flame."
They looked to the holomap projected before them—a scattered display of sympathetic worlds, lost Jedi contacts, ex-military officers, and trade guild defectors. A movement, still unformed, but flickering with hope.
"Are you sure we can trust the cells on Corellia?" she asked.
Bail nodded. "Yes. Garm Bel Iblis remains hidden, but his people are prepared. And we've made contact with refugees from Ryloth, Dantooine, and even Jedha. We may be scattered, but we are not alone."
Mon Mothma stood. "Then it begins now. Not as senators. Not as diplomats. But as rebels."
The Rebel Alliance was born not with a grand battle—but with an oath whispered in the shadows of Alderaan.
Coruscant – The Emperor's Shadow
Atop the Sith Citadel built into the shell of the former Jedi Temple, Palpatine meditated in silence. Below him, the machinery of the Empire grew grand fleets, death machines, planetary governors all bound to his will. But he knew power demanded more than armies. It required reach. Precision.
He required a blade that could move where Vader could not a ghost, a whisper, a weapon that did not question.
From the lower chambers of the Citadel, he summoned her.
She was young, taken from her family at birth by Sith agents. Her name had been erased. She was trained by the Inquisitors, refined by Sith alchemy, honed in pain and fear. But she was loyal. Utterly.
She knelt before him in silence.
"You are my Hand now," Palpatine intoned. "Where my eyes cannot go, yours will see. Where my voice cannot reach, your blade shall speak."
He raised a gloved hand. Crimson light flared from his fingertips and flowed into her mind commands, visions, training, and domination. She screamed, and then was still.
"You are no longer a child of the galaxy," he whispered. "You are its end."
Thus was born the Emperor's Hand.
In the Shadows – The First Strikes
Across the galaxy, small uprisings ignited. On Kashyyyk, enslaved Wookiees resisted the Empire's extractors. On Onderon, Saw Gerrera's brutal freedom fighters launched strikes. On Lothal, an Imperial Academy cadet vanished with stolen data.
And on the Outer Rim, Mon Mothma and Bail Organa began coordinating through hidden channels. They called it The Network—a string of encrypted hyperspace beacons, droid couriers, and coded broadcasts embedded in ordinary holonews.
The Empire responded with overwhelming force.
Entire cities were razed.
Whole populations were relocated.
But the fire had started.
Vader's Suspicion
While Palpatine's plans deepened, Vader began to notice the subtle shifts. Stormtrooper divisions rerouted without his order. Star systems blockaded without Senate oversight. Warships disappeared from known fleets. And the Emperor—his master—spent more and more time secluded, unreachable.
In the darkened bridge of the Executor, Vader stood motionless as stars slid past.
"He hides something," he murmured.
He turned from the viewport. "Prepare the Shadow Squadron. We will begin a reconnaissance sweep near the Unknown Regions."
Even if he did not yet know where… he would find it.