Word of the Death Star spreads like wildfire across the galaxy. People separated by lightyears weep together for the loss of Jedha, rejoice for the victory at Scarif. Rogue One becomes legendary, their praises sung in as many languages as there are stars. But no legend is finite. No story is immune to the evolution of time.
Generations have passed when a father regales his children with stories of a phoenix who had stardust in her eyes and a heart made of kyber. He tells them the story of her first death, occurring deep within the earth, inside a bunker where she'd stowed herself away. The peace and comfort she had known in her life before burned away, and when she was born again she became a child of war.
Her second death was much the same, although something darker rose from the ashes. Betrayal had seared her kyber heart and left simmering hate where trust once lived. She became a creature of shadow, a ghost in the wind.
Her spirits blackened with each death, yet no matter how many lives she lived or how many names she took, the stardust in her eyes would not dim.
Eventually the shadows could no longer hide her and she was imprisoned in a place where even the brightest flames were extinguished. This place was hopelessness manifested and the phoenix was certain she would meet her final death; that this place would burn away what remained of her soul and nothing would be left.
Then the fates shifted. Her endurance was rewarded with a single chance – a chance for atonement, for freedom, for rebirth. She found creatures much like herself, wayward embers in need of home, in need of family. Together they took on the darkness and the phoenix faced the shadows of her past. She blinded them with her light, blazing with the fury of a star. And in the final battle, when the very earth beneath their feet was reduced to ash, the phoenix rose again.