Location: Chandrila, Late Evening
Year: 4 ABY
The horizon outside the large windows of the penthouse was a deep orange, fading into purple as the last light of the day retreated, making way for the coming night. The air was peaceful, almost too quiet, but within the walls of the luxurious living space, it was a moment of calm that Spectre Seven—Yalara—had grown to appreciate.
She sat cross-legged on a comfortable recliner, her body gently rocking back and forth. In her lap, nestled against her, was Ygnacio, their baby, peacefully sipping from his milk bottle. His small, chubby fingers gripped the bottle as he fed, eyes fluttering between sleep and wakefulness. Yalara grinned to herself, feeling a rare and precious serenity. This was what peace felt like—nurturing him, taking care of him.
Her breath was steady, almost meditative, as she focused entirely on the simple rhythm of her child's breathing. She felt his warmth against her, and her heart filled with the kind of joy that had nothing to do with lightsabers, missions, or battles fought. Just family.
In the background, she heard the soft sounds of Ezra Bridger finishing up with the dishes, the clatter of plates and cups now distant. A final swoosh of the towel against his hands, and he came back into the living area. Yalara looked up, her eyes meeting his. He smiled at her as he moved toward the couch, sitting down and leaning back with a satisfied sigh. He'd always been good at making even the mundane things feel meaningful.
Seven gave him a playful smirk, her eyes twinkling, before she rose slowly from the chair, careful not to disturb Ygnacio. She crossed the space to the couch, where she gently sat down next to Ezra, leaning into him, pressing her head against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her naturally, his embrace strong and reassuring.
For a moment, there were no words. Just the quiet of the room, the slight hum of the city beyond the windows, and the shared sense of peace between them. The silence was its own kind of comfort—one neither of them felt the need to break.
Ezra shifted slightly, reaching instinctively for his comm, the soft vibration alerting him of a holomessage. He untangled himself from the embrace and sat forward, checking the comm. Spectre Seven sighed softly, missing his warmth as his attention left her, but her focus returned to Ygnacio, who had now finished the bottle. She gently pulled it away and wiped the little bit of milk dribbling from his mouth, her smile never fading.
Ezra opened the message, his expression brightening when he saw who it was from. Luke Skywalker. He pressed a button, and Luke's familiar voice filled the quiet room.
"Hi Ezra, Yalara. I hope all is well. I wanted to check in and see how the construction of the temple on Chandrila is going. I recently had some interesting visitors... Well, I say Jedi visitors, but in fact, I met a Jedi, a Nightsister, and a Force-sensitive young woman around my age."
Ezra chuckled softly, glancing over at Yalara, who was still focusing on Ygnacio.
Luke continued, "The Jedi's name is Cal Kestis and his partner is Merrin. You probably remember Cal from some of the old records or stories we've shared. They adopted a child during the Empire, and that child, Kata, is now grown. They feel she's ready to be trained, and they've left her with me for now. We haven't started any formal training yet, but I think once she's comfortable, we'll begin working out a routine."
Ezra smiled, the warmth in Luke's tone making him feel closer despite the distance. Yalara noticed Ezra's expression and scooted closer, gently tapping his shoulder, silently asking to see the message as well. Ezra turned the comm to face her.
Luke's voice continued, "I hope you both get the chance to visit Devaron again someday, but I understand you're happy and content where you are. I love you both, and may the Force be with you always."
The message ended, and Ezra smiled to himself, his thoughts still lingering on Luke's words.
Yalara leaned over and pressed a soft kiss against Ezra's cheek. "I'm happy for him," she murmured, her voice gentle but sincere.
Ezra nodded, still looking at the comm in his hand. "Yeah... he finally got a student."
Yalara quirked an eyebrow, her tone taking on a slightly playful edge. "Sabine?" she teased, a small smirk pulling at her lips.
Ezra blinked, catching her meaning, and let out a quiet laugh. "Oh—right, my mistake. I meant his first Jedi student."
"Mmhmm," Yalara responded with mock suspicion, leaning back on the couch. "Very well…"
Ezra chuckled again, turning the comm off and setting it aside. His arm found its way back around her, pulling her close again as he sighed contentedly.
"Hera's still busy," Ezra said after a moment, his voice quieter now. "But I'm looking forward to seeing Jacen make some real progress. Maybe the temple here will convince her to bring him along more often."
Yalara nodded, thinking back to the times when they'd babysat Jacen Syndulla. "Yeah, and you know Jacen as a toddler… that was good practice for us. For when little Ygnacio came along."
Ezra smiled, glancing down at Ygnacio, who was now fast asleep in Yalara's arms. "You're right," he said softly.
They shared another quiet moment, simply watching Ygnacio breathe, feeling the peacefulness of the evening settle around them like a soft blanket.
Later that night, after gently placing Ygnacio into his cradle and turning on the soft glow of the nightlight, Ezra and Yalara stood side by side, completing their nighttime routine in silence. They moved around each other with ease, every action familiar, every glance filled with warmth.
Ezra slipped into bed first, pulling the covers back as Yalara approached. She crawled in next to him, resting her head on his shoulder, his arm immediately wrapping around her, holding her close. No more words needed to be spoken. The silence, the peace, was enough.
XX
Few days later...
The late afternoon sun bathed Chandrila in a soft golden hue, the light refracted by the towering spires of the capital city. From the wide bay window covering nearly the entire side of the office, Hera Syndulla stood, arms crossed, gazing out at the skyline. Her reflection merged with the cityscape, her figure partially illuminated by the amber sunlight, but most of her remained cast in shadow.
It had been another long day.
She took a slow breath, relieved that at least in here, behind these glass panes, she could avoid the worst of Chandrila's oppressive afternoon heat. Her eyes followed the movement of ships hovering over the city, the subtle hum of traffic barely audible from this high up. The skyline was beautiful, peaceful even, though that serenity belied the endless political battles and bureaucratic maneuvering within the New Republic government.
For the last several weeks, Hera had spent most of her time in meetings. Tedious, frustrating, and often fruitless meetings. Discussions about how the remnants of the Empire were still maintaining production facilities for military equipment, existing side by side with New Republic military assets.
Imperial and New Republic production... still coexisting. She shook her head slightly at the thought. The transition hadn't been smooth, and she had her doubts that it ever would be as long as Vader held control over military affairs. The man who had once been the scourge of the galaxy now commanded respect and fear in equal measure.
And then there were the Grysk. She felt a bitter taste rise in her throat just thinking about them.
Historical rivals of the Chiss Ascendancy, the Grysk were a looming threat, a species intent on subversion, control, and assimilation. Rumors abounded that they were now attempting to integrate themselves into New Republic society. Officially, they claimed to want peace. But Hera knew better. She had seen the way they operated on the fringes, and she wasn't naive enough to believe their intentions were purely diplomatic.
It was strange—having to juggle the concerns of the Grysk, the remnants of the Empire, and the New Republic's shaky leadership all at once. And worse yet, much of the decision-making power still rested with the very person who had once been her enemy—Vader.
Hera sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as the tension built up again behind her eyes.
And then there's Senator Xiono.
She couldn't help but smirk at the thought of the recently elected Senator of Hosnian Prime. The man was all talk, eager to puff his chest out in front of his fellow politicians, but he would never—never—dare speak a word of criticism against Vader when it mattered. She had sat through countless meetings where Xiono would ramble on and on about this issue or that, but when it came time to address Vader's direct involvement in military affairs, he would fold. Every. Single. Time.
"Coward," she muttered under her breath.
It was the same everywhere—meetings, committees, discussions—all revolving around problems that couldn't be fully addressed or resolved as long as Vader remained at the helm of military power. She understood that the galaxy wasn't ready for an immediate transition away from Imperial influence, but sometimes it felt like they were stuck in a political quagmire.
The door to the office slid open with a quiet hiss. A junior staffer poked her head in. "General Syndulla, the meeting has concluded. You're free for the rest of the afternoon."
"Thank you." Hera gave the staffer a polite nod, grateful for the break.
With a small sigh of relief, she made her way over to the side of the room where a caf dispenser hummed quietly. She filled a cup, savoring the warmth as she clasped it in her hands. Her eyes drifted to the far wall where a small sitting area was arranged—a fancier design than one would see in a doctor's office, but the intention was similar. Waiting rooms, no matter how opulent, all felt the same. Empty, quiet, and a little too sterile.
Hera sat down, sinking into the plush chair and sipping her decaf. She allowed herself a brief moment of stillness. The weight of the galaxy felt a little lighter in these small moments, even if it was only for a fleeting second.
The door slid open again, and she smiled softly as the familiar sound of metal clanging against the floor filled the room. It was Chopper, and right behind him, Jacen, his bright green hair bouncing as he ran in.
"Hey, mom!" Jacen grinned as he stopped by her chair, breathless from running.
"Hey, Jacen." Hera looked up, her heart softening. She set the caf aside and extended an arm to pull Jacen in for a quick hug. Chopper beeped a greeting, and she gave him a nod. "How was your day?"
Jacen's eyes sparkled with excitement, but he shrugged. "Same-o, same-o. Lots of studying. What about you?"
Hera chuckled, her hand gently tousling Jacen's hair. "Same-o, same-o for me too, Jacen. A lot of meetings, a lot of boring talk about things that can't really change."
Jacen tilted his head, eyes curious. "I see."
She gave him a small, tired smile. "Follow me." She paused for a moment, then leaned forward, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Want to see something cool?"
Jacen's face lit up instantly, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah!"
Hera stood, picking up her caf and motioning for him to follow. She led him to another room adjacent to the office, this one similar in design but with a wide, rectangular window that offered a panoramic view of the Chandrila skyline. She gestured toward the horizon, pointing at a small, partially constructed building near the outskirts of the city.
"You see that building over there?" she asked.
Jacen squinted, his nose nearly pressed against the glass. "Yeah, mom. I see it..."
"Good eyes, Jacen." Hera smiled, placing her hand on his shoulder. "It might look small from here, but that building is going to be something very special. It's a Jedi Temple. It'll be used by your Uncle Luke, Ezra, and Auntie Yalara."
Jacen turned to her, eyes wide. "So... does that mean I'll be a Jedi now?"
She knelt down to his level, her eyes locking with his. "Yes, Jacen. You will be a Jedi. But," she added, holding up a finger as a playful yet serious look crossed her face, "just remember, when they can train you more there, I will still have a watchful eye on you."
Jacen grinned, though there was a bit of reluctance in his voice. "Okay, mom..."
Behind them, Chopper let out a sarcastic beep, which translated roughly to, "She' will let you go someday."
Hera rolled her eyes. "Chopper, quiet."
The droid let out a mechanical raspberry, spinning in place.
Jacen laughed, his face lighting up even more. Hera was glad for moments like these—moments when she could just be a mother and not a general, not a politician. The galaxy always felt so heavy, so overwhelming. But Jacen was her grounding force, the reason she kept pushing through the endless meetings and political drama.
"Chopper's right, you know," Jacen said suddenly, his voice tentative, but he was smiling. "You have to let me go someday."
Hera raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly. "Oh, is that so?"
Jacen gave a dramatic nod, his confidence growing. "Yeah! I mean, Uncle Luke and Ezra will need me to be... you know, a real Jedi."
She chuckled, pulling him into another hug. "Even without the training, you have the heart for it. Just like your father."
Jacen's expression softened. He didn't talk about Kanan much—Hera knew he had memories of him, but they were faint, almost like whispers. Sometimes she caught him staring at the holos of Kanan, lost in thought. It broke her heart that Jacen never truly got to know his father the way he should have.
"Thanks, Mom," Jacen whispered into her shoulder.
They sat there for a moment, just holding each other, the warmth of the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the room. Outside, Chandrila was as peaceful as it could be, given the constant buzz of ships, speeders, and construction in the distance. The galaxy beyond was always in motion, but inside this little room, it was just the two of them—and Chopper, of course.
After a moment, Hera let go of Jacen and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "Alright, enough of that. You hungry? I think it's almost time for dinner."
"Actually," Jacen said, eyes bright with excitement again, "I want to know more about that Jedi Temple! When will it be ready? Will Uncle Luke and Ezra be there every day? Will there be lightsaber training?"
Hera laughed, waving her hand dismissively as she picked up her caf again. "Whoa, whoa. One question at a time."
Jacen gave her an impatient look. "Mom..."
Hera turned to face the window again, watching the construction crews at work. The Temple was only half-finished, a small skeleton of what it would eventually become. But it symbolized so much more. A future for Jacen. A future for the Jedi. A future for the galaxy, perhaps.
As they left the office, Hera glanced back at the skyline one last time, her eyes falling on the unfinished temple. It was a beacon of what could be—a reminder that even in the aftermath of war, there was always room to rebuild.
And she would make sure that Jacen—and the rest of the galaxy—had a future worth fighting for.
"Come on," she said, leading her son down the hall, Chopper trailing behind. "Let's get you ready for the nighttime."
Jacen's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Ok, I'm ready."
Hera smiled, her heart full.
XX
The bridge of the Chimaera was silent, save for the soft hum of the ship's systems. Grand Admiral Thrawn stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out into the vast expanse of space, his red eyes gleaming under the dim light of the control panels. His thoughts were elsewhere, far beyond the stars that glittered in the void before him. They were focused on a looming shadow—one that threatened not only the Chiss Ascendancy but the fragile balance of the galaxy itself.
The Grysk.
He had been contemplating their subtle, yet relentless infiltration of galactic society for weeks now. It wasn't just a matter of military might—though they had that in abundance—it was their cultural and economic strategy that concerned him the most.
Assimilation.
The Grysk were attempting to integrate into the New Republic, but not through traditional diplomacy or peaceful coexistence. No, they were far more cunning than that. Thrawn's lips pressed into a thin line as he replayed the latest reports.
The Grysk had made overtures to the New Republic. They spoke of peace, of trade, of the mutual benefits of cooperation. Yet, Thrawn could see through their veneer of civility. They had no Senate representative as of yet, but their influence was already spreading, creeping into the very systems that the New Republic sought to protect. The Grysk restricted the movement of New Republic citizens in their sectors, allowing only limited access to their territories. This alone raised alarms in Thrawn's mind, but it was their financial pursuits that concerned him even more.
They were focused on establishing a foothold in business, primarily in finance, materials, and essential goods production. The Grysk were not interested in politics or diplomacy. No, they intended to reshape the galaxy from the inside out, using economic dominance to wield influence over the Republic.
Thrawn's eyes narrowed as his thoughts deepened.
They seek control, not through conquest but through dependence.
Once they monopolized essential resources—raw materials, foodstuffs, energy—they would have the power to cripple the New Republic without ever firing a shot. If the Republic became reliant on Grysk trade, it would be a stranglehold, one that could tighten with devastating speed if left unchecked. And once they held that power, the Grysk would do what they always did: assimilate.
Thrawn turned from the viewport, walking slowly across the bridge. His boots clicked softly on the durasteel floor, a rhythmic cadence to his calculated steps. He paused by a tactical display, his finger tracing the edges of the map that showed the current sectors under Grysk influence. It wasn't yet vast, but it was growing. They were spreading like a virus, and soon they would encircle the Republic, as they had already done with the Chiss Ascendancy.
A hollow echo resounded in his mind as the memories resurfaced.
For decades now, the Grysk have invaded the systems surrounding Chiss space, pressing inward with unyielding resolve.
Thrawn's thoughts drifted back to his homeland, to the Chiss Ascendancy, where the Grysk had made their presence felt in increasingly hostile ways. The Ascendancy's military was formidable, but the Grysk were unlike any other adversary. They were patient, methodical, never attacking directly but always encroaching, infiltrating, sowing seeds of discord among the Chiss peoples. Their whispers of division were dangerous, their subversion a threat that even the mightiest fleet could not always counter.
But what troubled Thrawn most was the looming question:
What would happen if the New Republic pressured the Grysk to surrender to their laws and demands?
Would they cave?
If they did, they would bide their time, reshaping galactic society from within—turning the pillars of democracy, commerce, and trade to their advantage, twisting them until they became a force more formidable than the Empire ever was.
But if the Grysk refused... Thrawn's jaw tightened, and his expression grew colder.
If they refused, the Grysk would eventually resort to invasion. First, they would target the Ascendancy, a calculated move to weaken the galaxy's outer defenses. Then, with the Ascendancy destabilized, they would turn their eyes to the Republic.
The Ascendancy would be overrun, and the New Republic would find itself fighting a war on two fronts—against an enemy that had already gained control over their supply chains.
Thrawn could see the danger so clearly, yet the New Republic was blind. They saw the Grysk as potential allies, or at least as a neutral party. They didn't understand what the Grysk were capable of.
But he did.
He had seen firsthand what happened to worlds that the Grysk targeted. Their society would collapse, their resources drained, their people taken or turned against one another until the Grysk had consumed everything. And it was always too late when the Grysk revealed their true nature.
There was only one way to counter such a threat.
Preparation.
"We must be ready," Thrawn murmured to himself, turning back toward the viewport. "We must be ready for all possibilities."
The New Republic didn't understand the stakes. They were too focused on rebuilding, on consolidating power, on maintaining peace. But peace had always been a fleeting illusion in this galaxy. It was a hard-earned lesson Thrawn had learned over the course of his long career. To prevent the Grysk from controlling the galaxy's essential resources, the Republic would need to act—quickly, decisively, and with the same strategic foresight the Grysk employed.
The question was, would the Republic act in time? Or would they fall into the same trap the Ascendancy had fallen into, lulled into complacency by the Grysk's deceptive promises of peace?
"Grand Admiral?" A voice broke through Thrawn's thoughts.
He turned to see Captain Eli Vanto standing nearby, a data pad in hand. "I have the latest intelligence report on the Grysk, sir."
Thrawn nodded, motioning for him to continue.
"The Grysk have been increasing their operations in their sectors, as expected," Vanto began, his voice crisp and efficient. "However, we've uncovered something new—raw materials and mineral deposits within their territory. It appears they control a significant amount of key resources, particularly in the Outer Rim and beyond. We've also intercepted transmissions indicating that they are interested in expanding their influence in sectors tied to food production, energy, and rare minerals."
Thrawn's eyes flicked to the data pad in Vanto's hands. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. "They control their territory through essential goods—energy, food, raw materials," he murmured.
Vanto nodded. "Yes, sir. From our estimates, the Grysk could potentially establish monopolies on many of these sectors within the next decade if the New Republic allows them to proceed unchecked."
Thrawn's gaze turned distant once again. It was as he suspected. The Grysk were positioning themselves for dominance, not through warfare but through control of resources—through necessity.
"Captain," Thrawn said, his voice low and deliberate, "we cannot allow the Grysk to monopolize these resources. The moment they control food production and energy, the New Republic will be entirely dependent on them."
"Understood, sir. But how do we proceed? The Republic's Senate seems reluctant to act. They see the Grysk as potential trading partners."
Thrawn's lips curved into a grim smile. "The Republic will learn soon enough. The Grysk's intentions are clear to those who understand their tactics. In time, the Republic will be forced to act."
Vanto hesitated. "And if they don't?"
"Then we will have to be ready," Thrawn said, his voice cold, unyielding. "We will have to ensure that the Ascendancy and the remnants of the Imperial forces are prepared for the inevitable. We cannot wait for the Republic to realize the threat. If they fail to act, then it will fall to us to stop the Grysk—before they consume everything."
Vanto nodded, his face set with determination. "Understood, Admiral."
As Vanto turned to leave, Thrawn returned his gaze to the stars. The Grysk were patient, yes. But he had seen their kind before, on countless worlds, in countless systems. And he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
They would not stop. Not until they had everything.
But Thrawn had always been a step ahead of his enemies. He would be ready.
And when the time came, the Grysk would learn just how far he was willing to go to protect his people—and the galaxy—from their insidious reach.
The game was already in motion.
Now, it was only a matter of time.