Cassian Damaris returned to the galaxy with more than scars and secrets. The hidden vaults of Skynet had yielded weapons and machines beyond imagining adaptive alloys, liquid constructs that could reshape themselves, and algorithms that could command fleets without error. Yet even as his engineers integrated the technology into his foundries, Cassian's mind turned toward the galaxy he had left behind. The Clone Wars were over. The Republic was gone. The Empire now sat upon its throne of iron.
In the shadowed bridge of his flagship, a holo-transmission flickered to life. The blue form of Bail Organa materialized, his regal features worn with worry and determination.
"Cassian," Bail began, his voice low, urgent. "The Emperor bleeds the galaxy dry. The Senate has become a mockery. Whole sectors fall silent under fear of reprisal. We have no choice but to resist. But resistance without arms is nothing. I need ships. Thousands of them."
Cassian's expression did not change, but his eyes sharpened. "Ships are more than metal, Bail. They are declarations of war. What you are asking for is no less than rebellion."
Organa did not look away. "Then let it be rebellion. If we do nothing, the galaxy will belong to Palpatine forever."
Silence stretched across the chamber. Requiem stood behind Cassian, arms folded, watching the exchange with the cold patience of a machine. Finally, Cassian inclined his head.
"Very well," he said. "You'll have them. But know this once the blade is drawn, there is no sheathing it."
Within months, cloaked convoys slipped from Cassian's Deep Forge yards. Frigates, corvettes, and blockade runners appeared in hidden systems far from Coruscant's eye. Crews trained in secrecy. Dockyards on Alderaan and other sympathetic worlds became waystations for the new fleet.
News of rebel activity spread like fire in dry fields. Imperial convoys began to vanish. Munitions depots exploded from within. Fuel shipments never arrived. The supply chains Palpatine relied on to maintain order frayed with every passing cycle.
On Coruscant, fury shook the Imperial Palace. Palpatine sat upon his throne, his withered hands clenched upon its arms. Reports scrolled before him supply lines disrupted, officers slain, entire sectors slipping through his grasp.
"Rebellion," he hissed, venom dripping from the word. "They dare rise against me?"
The chamber darkened as Darth Vader entered, his mechanical breath filling the silence. Behind him knelt the black-robed forms of the Inquisitors.
"You will hunt them," Palpatine commanded. His eyes blazed with sickly fire. "Track them. Burn their nests. Let the galaxy learn what becomes of those who defy the Empire."
Vader inclined his head. "Yes, my master."
But the Rebels moved like shadows, guided by Cassian's unseen hand. Every Imperial push was met with sabotage. Hyper-lanes collapsed under minefields. Star Destroyers arrived at depots already stripped bare. Garrisons found themselves cut off, starved of supplies and fuel.
The Empire still ruled with fear, but fear could not fill empty bellies or fuel depleted engines. For the first time, cracks appeared in Palpatine's perfect machine.
And Cassian, cloaked in silence, watched from the void.
The first sparks had been struck.The fire was only beginning.