The hiss that echoed across the forge was accompanied by the unmistakable clang of beskar-meeting-beskar. Pipes of pressurised gas and electrical wires crisscrossed the floor, and embers danced in the air. It was no Great Forge- but to Paz Vizsla, it was the last authentic Mandalorian forge in existence. Every piece of armour created here would be the product of diligent work and masterful skill. It was nothing like the sickening factories that had come to dominate Mandalore- cold and sterile- automated and soulless- producing beskar armour at a scale never before seen. Paz was young- too young to remember the days before the Clone Wars. But even he held onto something many of his elders had cast aside. His honour.

Placing the two camtonos he carried down on the ground, he turned to face the woman who stood at the heart of the forge. Her armour was red and golden- a stark contrast to the naval blue of his own Mandalorian armour. With a pair of tongs in hand, she pulled a fragment of metal from the forge's blue flame, and dipped it into a tub of coolant. Then, she turned to face her guest.

"The latest airdrop from Noctus?" she inquired.

"Yes, Armourer," responded Paz, opening the camtonos to reveal stacks upon stacks of glimmering beskar.

"The armour we forge from it will serve us well," she said, lifting the fragment from the coolant and walking to her anvil, hammer in hand.

"Yes... I know."

"But you are troubled."

"Our intention was to free Mandalore from outsiders. But for all we know-"

"This... arrangement... has been in place for years. You said it yourself- 'we must liberate Mandalore by any means necessary'. The time for second thoughts," she said as she struck the beskar, producing a loud clang, "...is well past,".

"...I know. But... do you think we made the right choice?"

"What is the source of this newfound doubt?"

"The Council Chamber bombing."

The Armourer nodded, understanding. Even as she spoke, she continued hammering the metal, shaping it with expertise that was the product of a decade's experience.

"Ah. Ever since we claimed responsibility- ever since we stepped into the light- groups on Mandalore that were once sympathetic to our cause have turned on us."

"They're cowards! They'd rather hide and accept what Mandalore has become than fight with us to restore everything we've lost!"

"Then what's the problem? Cowards are the last people we'd want among our ranks."

"I... thought the people would celebrate our victory. I thought they would rally to our cause. But tying ourselves to the bombing has just made us look like fanatics! They're scared- not of what the First Light is doing to them- but of us, the people trying to free them!"

"Our cause will always be met with resistance. That is simply its nature."

"But our cause is just!"

"No doubt the Paladins of the Light think the same of their so-called 'purpose'. But it is we who follow The Way. It is we who walk the path carved by the one true Mand'alor. And the dozens of warriors at your command- esteemed heir to House Vizsla- they will not turn their back on you. Neither will I.

"But what of the others- the billions who've lost their way thanks to the First Light's corruption?!"

"Some may eventually see the righteousness of our cause. And those who do not will be struck down."

"Do you... actually think that's possible?"

"Possible or no... if honour demands we fight, then that is our inescapable duty."

"...this is The Way."

"This is The Way. Do not lose heart, Heir of Vizsla. It is our cause that shall prevail, for it is our cause that is virtuous."

There was a time when Vizsla was among the mightiest of the Great Houses. Its leaders could trace their ancestry back to the great Tarre Vizsla- he who had managed to unify all of Mandalore. But now, most of his people bowed to a mere shadow of Tarre's glory- the false Empress who'd used her claim over the darksaber to turn them away from their glorious past. House Vizsla was shattered, once subservient clans growing into houses of their own as a reward for falling in line with the First Light's mandates. But Paz Vizsla would not do the same. For years, his resistance had operated unnoticed- amassing arms and allies, finding sympathetic figures among the First Light's own ranks, and funding a vast network of insurgent cells across the Mandalore system. He'd been little more than a child when his organisation first took shape. And even as the Heir of Vizsla, many had been hesitant to accept his authority. But with time and the endorsement of the venerated Armourer, his influence and his legend quietly grew. He'd proven himself a fearsome warrior- a proud leader- and a man who cared deeply about carrying on the mission of his predecessor.

But never before had he faced such a threat. Under the command of Bo-Katan Kryze- loathed betrayer of Pre Vizsla- the Paladins of the Light had grown emboldened. They'd struck at countless lesser insurgent cells, turned public opinion against the Watch, and apprehended a number of undercover collaborators whose positions had taken great effort to secure. Revealing themselves to the galaxy so soon had not been his intention. And only now did the precariousness of his position become clear. How long would it be before his last bastion of security- this mine-turned-fortress carved into the stone of a Concordian mountain- was also discovered? And what would happen then? Paz's forces were exceptionally trained, and thanks to the contributions of Noctus, had equipment on par with any Paladin. His base was all but impenetrable, capable of weathering even a protracted siege. But the numbers he commanded were inconsequential compared to those the First Light could bring to bear. They would hold out. They would survive. But they'd never win back Mandalore. For open war to be an option, he'd need the people on his side. An impossibility in the aftermath of the Council Chamber Bombing.

"Still," Paz thought. "The Armourer is right. Honour demands we fight. So we will. Win or lose."

That all too familiar dread had returned. Ahsoka stood on the scorched remnants of a landing platform, surrounded by raging fires and the orange glow of the magma below. The sky was a bloody crimson, broken up by thick black clouds. It was Mustafar- and it was here that she stood before lifeless remnants of her former master. His cybernetics had been crushed- his masked shattered- his burned head now exposed and bloodied. It was hard to believe the pathetic figure beneath her was once the fearsome spectre who had haunted her dreams.

"What... is this?" she thought. "How did I..."

The flames around the platform grew, forming a blinding prison of luminous red. The hiss of fire became ear-splitting, slowly morphing into discernible words.

"The time of the Sith'ari has come."

"Claim your crown. Take your throne."

"Let your will be done. Let your chains be broken."

"Come to us, o Sith'ari."

Ahsoka shook her head. She'd had this dream before- painful voices screeching at her with the intensity of a sonic weapon, urging her to abandon all restraint. Urging her to put the past behind her, once and for all.

"No," she said, speaking through gritted teeth. "I refuse."

"Your power is absolute. Your legend is all-consuming. Deny yourself no longer, for your actions betray your intent," replied the voices.

"My actions reaffirm my conviction!" Ahsoka screamed. "I don't want glory. I don't want power. But I take it- I wield it- to spare others this burden. I fight so that others may know peace! That is my intent! That is my purpose!"

"Then, o Sith'ari, let your will be done."

The wall of noise intensified, becoming utterly unbearable. Ahsoka closed her eyes, willing herself to awaken from this nightmare. Then, there was silence. She felt cold, firm stone beneath her, and opened her eyes to find herself atop an ancient, jagged throne. The violent red of Mustafar had given way to the faint glimmer of dull grey fog. The sky was a sullen blue, and lightning crackled through the clouds. Beneath her was a crowd of kneeling soldiers stretching endlessly into the horizon. Then, their voices sang out in chorus, shaking the very earth beneath her.

"Praise the slayer of Destiny's Chosen!"

"Praise she who defied fate itself!"

"Praise the one who stands above us all!"

"All hail the Sith'ari!"

As she stared down at her audience, her mind was filled with horrific visions. Plasma raining from the sky, razing cities to the ground. Children crying out in grief, clinging desperately to the corpses of their parents. Entire worlds blackened by unceasing bombardment. And through it all, she heard that same cheer.

"All hail the Sith'ari!"

Ahsoka jolted awake, clutching her silk sheets with a vice-like grip. Her calloused hands felt strangely cold- her breathing was ragged- and her stomach ached with an inexplicable anxiety.

"Stop it," she thought.

She had to be better than this. Weakness was a luxury she could not afford. Ahsoka was Empress of the Galaxy- she alone bore responsibility of lives uncountable. If she allowed sentiment to cloud her judgement- if she gave herself to her emotions for but an instant- she risked walking down the same path of destruction Vader had. Her emotions were her tools. It was from her feelings that Ahsoka drew strength. She would not allow them to become a source of vulnerability. If a bad dream was all it took to knock her off balance, the weight of the galaxy would certainly crush her.

She gestured, and the walls of her bedchamber turned from the extravagant white-and-gold patterns they typically bore into a full-colour projection of the Temple of Light's exterior. The effect was uncanny- almost as though the entire temple was see-through, revealing the perpetually busy cityscape below a clear and starry night sky. In less than a decade, Malachor had become completely unrecognisable from what it had once been. There was a time when few even believed in its existence- and those who did thought it a planet of the damned. Now, it had been elevated to the religious nexus of the First Light. Pilgrims far and wide would journey here seeking divine revelation- the same revelation once experienced by the great and visionary Empress.

"All hail Empress Tano," she thought to herself ruefully. She told herself that power was never her ambition- that this religion she'd constructed was a tool, and nothing more. And had she not succeeded? Was the galaxy not more prosperous, more peaceful, under her rule?

During the Clone Wars, Ahsoka had witnessed injustice after injustice while being powerless to stop them. The institutions upon which galactic society was built had been poisoned by the avarice and ego of those who'd envisioned them. But everything was different now. If she didn't like something, she could change it. The subjects of her fears could be crushed with little more than a word. And yet, the fears remained. Taking a deep breath, she released her hold on her sheets and stood, approached the wall-projection, and raised a gentle hand towards it. Malachor's skyline glimmered with tiny specs of light. Speeders zoomed past towering skyscrapers, each likely housing thousands of people. Countless lives relying on her. Her alone.

But then, she was alone, wasn't she? She wouldn't- perhaps couldn't- allow herself to care for any individual person. Care necessitated trust. And trust, she knew, was dangerous. Everyone- even those such as Bo-Katan- carried a deep-seated apprehension towards her. She could sense it. There were those who would sing her praises- the sycophants seeking ascension. There were those who'd die for her in battle- the fanatics blinded by faith. There were those who served her out of duty- a noble sense of obligation. And there were others motivated only by the threat of force. None would see the person behind the Empress' gilded mask. They would see only the persona- the Great Prophet of the Light. Then again, that mask was her only shield. The last thing she'd risk was yet another knife in her back.

Ahsoka had awoken in the dead of night. But now that she was awake, she doubted she'd be able to fall asleep again. Instead, she changed into her training gear and went to awaken her young protege.

"Good news, Thrawn," said Bo-Katan as she entered the Blitzkrieg's command centre. "Our request has been approved. You'll have everything you need for this... insane... plan of yours."

Thrawn turned around, evidently shocked.

"Blanket approval? So quickly? How is that possible? I've made a number of requests for additional support, but have yet to receive a single response even weeks later."

"It's possible," said Bo-Katan with a wry grin, "...because I'm the one who made that request. If you get people on your side, they'll want you to succeed. But if you decide to make enemies- as you seem far too eager to do..."

"Then I might be set up to fail. I understand that much. But... it was never my intention to make enemies, High Paladin."

"Intentions are irrelevant. Brilliant as you are, you will only go so far without learning to play the politics game. Don't get me wrong- I hate all of it. Still, it's the only way I've managed to stay in this position for so long."

"Hm. Had I known your requests were actioned so quickly, I would have asked for more. But I suppose beggars can't be choosers. Do we have an ETA on the deployment of the new Cronau sensor?"

"Already deployed," smirked Bo-Katan. "As per your specifications, it's linked to a subspace transceiver with a range of 63 light-years. I have the frequency for when we're ready to start listening in."

"Excellent. And what's the status on the strike force we've requested?"

"En route to our position. But, uh... they may find it challenging to stop mid-hyperlane. And I don't even want to imagine what their reactions will be once they hear what you have in mind."

"The results will speak for themselves."

"...if this works. Based on your own assessments, the window of time we'll have to make our move is-"

"It's narrow. Perhaps more narrow than I'd like. But this might be our best option to bypass their defences with minimal casualties on our side. Unless... you have some other proposal you've yet to voice."

"No, not at all. Look, as hesitant as I felt- or still feel- about putting this kind of faith in you... this rebellion needs to be put down quickly, and your plan might just be the best way to do it. But... please keep in mind what happens if this all goes to hell. It won't be just your reputation that burns."

"I know. Politics may be an enigma to me, but I know you're taking a big risk by backing me like this. I won't let you down."

Bo-Katan forced an uneasy smirk.

"...here's hoping."

"We're going to try something different today," said Ahsoka as she fiddled with a spherical machine in the stark white of the Temple's training room.

"Training? Now?!" Leia said incredulously.

"Yes," responded Ahsoka.

Leia's eyes were groggy and her muscles still ached. She'd spent the whole day enduring the Empress' strict training regiment. Now, she'd been pulled from her much-needed sleep even as she whinged in protest.

"It's so late! Can't we do this tomorrow?"

"You do not get to choose when threats make themselves known. And besides... I'm looking forward to seeing how you're progressing. Now, take a pair of training staves from the wall and perform for me the basic series."

"...yes, Your Luminance."

After grabbing the staves and returning to the training area, Leia assumed the defensive stance she'd been taught- one weapon held forward to intercept incoming strikes, the other held back and poised to attack. Then she began the series- performing strike after strike as she advanced in an almost mechanical fashion. Ahsoka shook her head in disapproval.

"Your moves are precise- you learn quickly."

"Then what's the problem? You don't look happy."

"The problem is your pathetic fluidity of motion. An effective fighter is able to shift from one move to another seamlessly. You, on the other hand, move as disjointedly as a protocol droid."

"You told me to show you the basic series. I did exactly what you asked!"

"The series is a training tool, and its purpose is twofold. One- to teach you pure technique. How to attack. How to defend. And two- to teach you to combine techniques- to train you to flow from one move into the next, and into the next. You've learned the technique. That, perhaps, is creditable. What disappoints me is that you've failed to pick up the intuition that is necessary in a real fight."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That much is all too apparent," said Ahsoka with a note of derision in her voice. "Overconfident. Petulant. Utterly unwilling to learn. Raw talent is a poor substitute for expertise, it seems."

Anger flared in Leia's eyes.

"I did what you wanted!"

"You did."

"Then why aren't you happy?!"

"Because you failed to impress me. I had a much more challenging test in mind for you tonight, but... you're far from ready."

Leia's grip on her training staves tightened.

"No. Give me the test. I'll do it. You'll see."

"You aren't ready."

"I am!"

Ahsoka gestured indifference.

"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you. Go back five paces, and we'll see whether you're up for the challenge."

"The test is simple," said Ahsoka once Leia had moved into position. The device she held flickered to life, levitating just above where Ahsoka had been holding it. Then, it was shrouded in light- covered completely by a hologram depicting a soldier wielding a blaster. "Your swords are your shield. You must use your weapons to protect yourself from blasterfire. Do this for ten seconds, and I'll consider the test passed. If you get hit, the timer resets."

Leia's eyes widened in fear.

"What?! A blaster- I can't-"

"Blaster bolts are fast. You must be faster," said Ahsoka, a cruel smile on her face. "I thought you said you were ready?"

Leia shook her head, banishing the doubt from her face.

"...I am ready. Start the test."

With a gesture from Ahsoka, the holo-trainer fired. It hit its target before Leia could so much as raise her weapons, and she screamed out in pain. Then it fired again. And again. Each time, the holo-trainer hit its mark, with Leia's attempts to shield herself being entirely for naught. The longer Ahsoka watched, the more her frustration grew. At the same age Leia was now, Ahsoka had been able to deflect multiple incoming blaster bolts fired by multiple targets with little effort or difficulty. Leia failed to defend herself from a single bolt fired by a single target. She knew it wasn't a fair comparison- Ahsoka had had the benefit of Jedi training which begun far earlier than Leia's own. But still, the gulf of the difference irked her. And on the battlefield, such excuses wouldn't matter anyway.

But even Leia's pain tolerance had limits. After being hit by dozens of the training bolts, she crumpled to the ground, tears forming in her furious eyes.

"What you want... is impossible!" croaked Leia, her voice hoarse and strained. Her grasp remained tight on the staves, even as merely breathing became an excruciating struggle.

"Really?" asked Ahsoka. "Adjust training preferences."

"Ready to adjust," came a robotic voice, seemingly from the room itself.

"Preset seven-one-three."

"Acknowledged."

The walls of the training room opened up and eight other holo-trainers emerged, each resembling an encircling soldier. They surrounded Ahsoka in every direction, wielding not blasters, but Z-6 Rotary Cannons- weapons which could unleash devastating barrages in mere fractions of a second. Drawing on the Force, Ahsoka tore the staves from Leia's grasp and pulled them into her own, before readying herself.

"Begin."

The moment the word left her lips, the room was filled with a chaotic cacophony of light and sound. A storm of blasterfire came from all directions, faster than even the eye could see. Letting her instincts guide her, Ahsoka became a blur of unnatural speed. Her staves spun around in wild, unreadable patterns, somehow managing to keep the entire onslaught at bay. Leia was awestruck. Such was the spectacle of the sight that for a moment, the protege forgot the debilitating pain she'd been feeling just seconds ago. Even surrounded by seemingly insurmountable firepower, Ahsoka suffered not a single scratch. Once ten seconds had elapsed, Leia watched on in stunned silence as Ahsoka dropped the staves and turned to leave the training room.

"A thing is only impossible if you deem it so," said Ahsoka, her voice full of scorn. "Perhaps that's a lesson you'll take from tonight. Perhaps you'll even learn some humility."

Then, she was gone.