Cassian walked the polished deck of the newly minted Solar-Forged dreadnought Eclipse Ascendant, his boots clicking with metronomic precision. The vessel was the first of its kind, a manifestation of centuries of engineering theory given brutal life. It didn't rely on the Force, or belief, or any mystical truth. It relied on dominance—through sunfire and silicon, steel and silence.
Beneath his feet, the ship thrummed with energy drawn directly from a miniature captive star. Solar plasma flowed through conduits the width of speeders, filtered through Forerunner lattice reactors, and dispersed across shielding nodes that could shrug off anything the Republic or the Separatists could currently muster.
Athena's voice resonated through the intercom, now fully integrated with the ship. "Primary systems stable. Solar core flux normalized. Weapons calibrating for precision strikes. Shall I run final AI loyalty integrity checks?"
"No," Cassian replied. "They've been seeded with obedience from construction. There will be no independence. Only execution of protocol."
He turned to Marcus, who stood beside him, clad now in full zero-environment armor with neural overlays. His father had aged in years, not in body, but in the weight of what his son was building.
"Cassian... this is more than a hidden weapon. This is... a god machine. You're turning the Forge into a myth that will outlive the stars."
Cassian didn't blink. "It needs to be."
They moved to the command nexus, where dozens of prototype tactical cores began simulating scenarios. From the return of Sith Lords to the rise of alien threats, each path ended with one resolution: the survival and ascension of Cassian's new order.
"I've seen what's coming. After the Empire, after the Republic, even after whatever Vader becomes... something worse is always waiting. The Forge isn't the final answer—it's the only answer."
Marcus watched one simulation end in galactic collapse. Another showed the Jedi rising again, fractured, misguided, but still dangerous. Yet another ended in total Force-nullification—the collapse of reality under metaphysical entropy.
"You've gone too far ahead," Marcus whispered. "How can anyone follow you?"
"They're not meant to follow," Cassian said. "They're meant to be protected. Even if they never understand it."
The Eclipse Ascendant launched from the Forge's upper ring, disappearing into a cloaking shroud the size of a moon. Other vessels would follow. Not just ships—seedships, factories, ecological reset modules, even Dyson-frame fragments stored in pocket slipspace. His plan was not conquest. It was preservation. Reconstruction.
Back inside the Forge, Cassian activated the Ascension Protocol.
A stream of golden light flowed into the planet's subsurface, activating massive vaults of data left dormant by the Rakatan extinction. AI minds began whispering through ancient conduits, piecing together not just weapons, but technologies that had never existed in known galactic records—planetary seeding engines, time-relapse containment chambers, entropy shields.
HK-47 appeared on a lift platform, flanked by two new assassin units. "Statement: All core directives uploaded. Experimental memory crystalized. Shall I initiate purge of unnecessary organic history?"
Cassian allowed himself the ghost of a smile. "No. Not yet. History is leverage. We'll use it later."
He moved to a stasis chamber where his own backup genetic code was stored—hardened, refined, now spliced with cloned enhancements and Spartan augmentation. His body was already beyond human, but Cassian didn't intend to stop there.
Athena appeared via hardlight projection beside him. "The Rakatan homeworld's tectonic stabilization has been achieved. Atmospheric renewal at 71%. Biodiversity will return within 3 years at accelerated growth intervals. Shall I name the world?"
Cassian looked through the observation panel.
"No. It will remain unnamed. It's not for the galaxy to know."
A moment later, the internal comms chimed. One of Cassian's infiltration AIs reported an unusual spike in Republic intelligence activity near the Outer Rim—rumors of a hidden fleet, chatter about technologies that didn't match any known Republic or CIS signatures. Palpatine was digging. Already.
"He suspects something," Marcus said.
"Of course he does," Cassian answered. "But he can't find what doesn't exist to him. He's playing chess. I've already finished the game."
The Ascension Protocol triggered phase two. Cassian uploaded the complete design for a galaxy-spanning defense grid—activated only in the event of a system-wide extinction threat. Satellites, hidden fleets, deep-crust relays. Each one locked behind genetic and AI security that even a Sith couldn't corrupt.
As his father looked on, Cassian finally showed him the last archive: the Codex Inheritae. It contained the full blueprints, visions, and pathways of his vision—not to be opened until after Cassian's death.
Marcus hesitated, reading the title. "You're preparing for your own end?"
"No," Cassian said. "I'm preparing for theirs. But someone needs to remember why."
Above the Forge, a final beacon activated—broadcasting a false supernova reading. Any scan of the system now showed only a destroyed star and radioactive detritus. The Forge, its dreadnoughts, and its world were invisible. Forgotten.
Safe.
Cassian walked to the central throne chamber of the Forge—not a seat, but a command interface shaped like a blade stabbed into a sun-core engine. He placed his hand on it, and the Forge responded with a pulse of golden light.
The galaxy wouldn't know he had ascended.
But it would feel it.