The night was dark and cold. Deathly silence filled the air as Ahsoka marched alone up the stairs of the Jedi Temple.
"Ahsoka? I-"
A familiar face approached her. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped his neck before he could finish the sentence. Alerted by the swift execution, two Temple Guards rushed towards her, raising their weapons in frightened fervour. Both were thrown back against the aged walls, leaving ugly smears of crimson.
As though possessed by some otherworldly evil, Ahsoka walked with vacant eyes through the all-too-familiar halls. All the while, the scene around her was the very picture of insanity. Students, teachers, guards, or masters- it mattered not who crossed her path during this solemn march through the temple. She was the focal point of a devastating Force singularity. All who approached the event horizon were torn limb from limb.
By the time the Temple fell silent once more, none had survived her massacre. Remnants of corpses scattered the ground, broken beyond recognition. The stone walls crumbled, proud statues lay toppled, and shards of devastated debris were left in her wake. And amidst it all, Ahsoka sat motionless on the blood-drenched floor.
She awoke from her meditation with a start- her heart pounding and her hands shaky.
"...another vision."
Ahsoka let out a sharp breath- then, focused on her surroundings to ground herself in the present moment. The room she sat in was a meditation chamber- one of the many in the Temple of Light's catacombs, used primarily to hone the abilities of her Missionaries.
"It wasn't real."
There was turmoil brewing in her perfect empire. Even after all these years, there remained enemies to locate, threats to vanquish. But it was nothing like the old days. In the early days of the First Light, her enemies were obvious- they acted in the open. But now there operated forces in the shadows- secret plots taking shape, and she knew not how to pursue them. She sought to find answers in the Force but her only reward had been nightmares of death.
"It wasn't real," she told herself once more, as if to try and convince herself. But though she knew at her core that those weren't her memories, a simple fact remained- she'd enjoyed it. She'd enjoyed the power, the feeling of absolute control. She'd enjoyed the reckoning brought upon the Jedi, even if it was just a fantasy. And after they had taken so much from her- after they'd taken her from her family, used her to fight their war, and thrown her away when it was politically convenient, there was a certain liberating feeling in tearing them down. She'd enjoyed it, even as the acknowledgement of that fact filled her with guilt.
"...the Jedi are gone. There's no sense dwelling on the past."
Just at that moment, her commlink beeped. She picked it up with a weary tiredness.
"I advised you not to disturb me."
The voice of a Royal Guardsman came through the device.
"Apologies, Your Luminance. Shall I-"
Ahsoka sighed.
"...No. Go ahead."
"Luminary Ceer is seeking urgent audience. In person. I thought you would want to know."
"In person? Unusual… but alright. Inform her that her request is granted, and that she is to make for Malachor at once."
"As you wish, Your Luminance.
"If we choose to crack down too harshly, we'll only build more sympathy for their movement!"
Bo-Katan's voice echoed through the vast council chamber. Arranged around a hexagonal room on a series of tiered balconies were representatives from various influential Mandalorian families. But their initial civility had quickly devolved into heated argument between the council members.
"I concur with High Paladin Kryze-" began Ursa, representative for clan Wren. "Escalating the conflict isn't the answer. The last thing our people need is yet another civil war!"
"There won't be one," interjected Rook of clan Kast. "If we send a strong enough message, no one will dare oppose us."
"We don't even know who our enemies are! How do you propose we attack what we can't see?!"
"By making an example of any and all Faithless Mandalorians and their sympathisers!"
"You mean, by making martyrs of them?" responded Bo-Katan.
"What alternative do you propose, High Paladin Kryze?" came Saxon's voice.
"Diplomacy. At the very least, identifying the grievances that inspire this rebellion would-"
An indignant expression crossed Rook Kast's face.
"Mining equipment sabotaged, maglev lines destroyed, and now the attempted bombing at the Sundari garrison. We need to project strength in the face of these attacks, not bargain with and bow meekly to this- this scum!"
Such were the discussions, stretching on endlessly for many hours. Contributions came from the greater clans and the lesser clans, the conservative sects and the progressive sects. There were impassioned speeches and quiet rebukes; calls for all-out-war and peaceful negotiation. But in the end, no consensus was reached. It seemed as though the wheels of bureaucracy would grind to a halt even as the world continued to turn. But the facade of civility came crashing down when an explosion engulfed the chamber.
"Captain Thrawn?"
Thrawn sat in the command centre of the Blitzkrieg, surrounded by holographic readouts of the ship's status. The Blitzkrieg and its escorts- a pair of TIE fighters- were relics of another time. It was hardly an ideal force for the mission they'd been assigned- but then, Thrawn reminded himself that most ships that made up the First Light navy were refurbished scraps captured or salvaged from previous regimes.
"Captain Thrawn!"
Thrawn was pulled from his thoughts by the voice of Commander Sitrep. That wasn't his true designation, Thrawn knew- but clones had a way of finding individuality even in an army where every soldier was meant to be interchangeable. Sitrep was one of the few soldiers whose military record dated all the way back to the Republic. He had an aged, bearded face and a certain weariness about him- yet his eyes were ever alert and he remained eager to fight.
"Sitrep," Thrawn thought to himself. "A name that speaks to a certain level of mental acuity and situational awareness on the field of battle. "
Finally, Thrawn responded, his chair turning to face the old clone.
"Ah, Commander. I trust you have the information I requested?"
"Yes, Captain," responded Sitrep, passing a datapad over to Thrawn. "Uh- permission to speak freely, Sir?"
"Granted."
"I had a look at the data myself, and… it just doesn't make sense. We have ships defending every jump point leading into the Mandalore system. None of them report any unusual activity prior to the attacks of the Beskar Raiders."
Thrawn studied the datapad, and his brow furrowed.
"...indeed."
"With respect, Sir?"
"Go on."
"When you were assigned this mission… I don't think you were ever intended to succeed."
At the clone's comment, Thrawn raised an eyebrow.
"Why do you say that?"
"The Beskar Raiders have been a problem for a long time. We've reinforced the Mandalore system with an entire fleet of capital ships and still they've been able to outmanoeuvre us."
"Is that not why I'm here?"
"Think about it, Captain- why would you be assigned to a mission that so many have already failed, and with so few resources? There are many people in this empire who want to see you fail. You are Faithless, after all."
Thrawn nodded in understanding. Political manoeuvring was always something that had eluded him- first in the Chiss Ascendency, and now in the First Light. Still, by having it laid out before him, Thrawn was able to connect the dots.
"You think I have been given this task so my inevitable failure tarnishes my reputation."
"That… would be my best guess, Sir."
"Then there is but a simple solution."
"What's that?"
"I shall not fail."
A harsh ringing echoed in Bo-Katan's ears. The air was filled with the sickening smell of sulphur. She felt a great weight on her back, pinning her helplessly to the ground. Fires raged around her in the blasted remains of the council chamber, and the dense smoke made every breath laboured. There was pain- but she could not allow that to deter her. Gritting her teeth, she struggled against the weight of the rubble pinning her down. It wasn't enough. She coughed and sputtered, trying desperately to claw herself free- and at last, she succeeded in displacing a piece of lesser rubble. It wasn't much. But it was enough to draw the attention of the Paladins searching for her. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was the sound of her allies scrambling to her rescue.
Bo-Katan awoke in a hospital bed, the bright white lights rousing her from her sleep. She'd been stripped of her armour- in its place was a tunic made of some fine and breathable fabric. Tubes and wires linked her to a number of devices, though their purpose was uncertain. But something was off. Her right arm itched persistently and she moved to scratch it- only to find that it wasn't there. Only then did her eyes widened in panic. Before she could give voice to her growing dread, a medical droid lumbered into the room, speaking with a high-pitched, monotonous voice.
"Greetings, High Paladin. I am relieved to see-"
"You- what happened?! My…"
"Please remain calm. Agitation is counter-productive to a swift recovery."
Bo-Katan felt a swell of rage. The droid's voice felt almost patronising- even if it wasn't intended to be. She shook her head, and with a sharp inhale, forced a transparently false calm.
"Just… tell me what happened."
"The exact nature of what occurred is currently under investigation by authorities. I suspect you will be briefed as soon as you are discharged. As for your injuries… you sustained a number of-"
"What happened to my arm?!"
"Shattered irreparably. Amputation was the logical course of action. But do not be alarmed. You will be provided a prosthetic to serve as a replacement."
"A… prosthetic?"
Bo-Katan's voice was hollow. Prosthetics were a technological miracle- there was no doubt about that. But Mandalorians were always somewhat distrustful of such things. Machines were tools- external to the self. Flesh was the body- it was the self. To tarnish that- to blur those lines- it was no small thing. Would her people still respect her? Her body, a weapon honed with a lifetime of brutal training, had been irrevocably changed. But then again, so too had Mandalore.
The influence of the Force on the minds of sentient beings was a well-documented phenomenon. Primarily attributed to the Jedi, who wielded the power in subtle persuasion towards selfless ends, the potential of this ability remained largely untapped all throughout galactic history. The Jedi viewed such practices as a violation of an individual's freedom of choice- a tool only to be wielded as a last resort. The Sith scoffed at such powers, preferring domination and subjugation to any form of persuasion. But for Empress Tano, it was these powers that allowed her to ascend to a position of absolute authority.
To refuse an order of the Empress was virtually impossible- her words were possessed by such weight and unnatural force that all who heard them were compelled to obey. It was a power she had come to rely on and one she would use as her most powerful tool of control. To expand this influence even further, schools were set up to identify and train Force-sensitive individuals in the ways of Force persuasion.
The result of this initiative was the Missionaries- Force-sensitive diplomats, government officials, preachers, and spies, who used a combination of Force persuasion and political acumen to infiltrate and subvert systems towards aligning with the First Light. It was these Missionaries- not the legions of Kamino-bred clones or the vaunted Mandalorian Paladins- who cemented Ahsoka's place as uncontested Empress of all the known galaxy. And it was Nalle Ceer, a teacher at one such school, who'd sought audience with the Empress at the beginning of a new galactic conflict.
"Your Luminance," she'd said, bowing before Ahsoka's imposing throne.
"Nalle Ceer," responded the Empress. "Why do you come before me?"
"To request guidance and counsel, Your Luminance."
"Counsel? From me?"
"None are as enlightened as you, Your Luminance."
"And you came all this way to seek… enlightenment? A thousand issues plague our galaxy, Luminary. I don't have the patience for trifles."
Nalle's heart sank.
"It is a matter of grave importance. Forgive me for-"
"Spare me your apologies and speak!"
"I… yes, your Luminance. Several years ago, we identified a promising prospect to educate as a Missionary. An… urchin of the planet Alderaan. We believe she was orphaned during The Purification."
"Go on."
"Well… though her talents are tremendous, she has proven resistant to all conditioning. There are concerns her powers cannot be directed towards service to the Light, and we are unsure what is to be done about her."
"I think it should have been obvious. The standard procedure- expell, excommunicate, and observe. If she becomes a problem, eliminate her."
"We'd- of course we'd considered that, your Luminance, but- her midichlorian count is approximately twenty-one thousand!"
Ahsoka's heart skipped a beat.
"Twenty-one thousand?! No Jedi had anything close to that, except…"
"...I see. An asset with that much potential justifies further investigation. What do we know about her genetic record?"
"No matches on file, your Luminance. Though it is worth noting that most of the data cataloguing Force-sensitive individuals was destroyed in The Purification."
"Indeed," thought Ahsoka. "Without the Jedi's records, there's no way of knowing for sure."
"And I presume you had the foresight to bring her with you today?"
"I did."
Ahsoka allowed herself a slight smile.
"Excellent. I thank you, Luminary Nalle, for bringing this issue to my attention. I will see to it that you are rewarded for your commendable initiative. And I would ask that you bring the child before me at once."
"You honour me with your words, Your Luminance."