The diplomatic cruiser sliced through Corellia's atmosphere under escort by automated sentry fighters. Padmé stood near the viewport, arms crossed, eyes tracing the silhouette of the Corellian shipyards that orbited the planet like mechanical halos.
Even from orbit, they were a marvel—structures woven with reinforced durasteel spines and hybrid alloys Cassian had designed himself. New ships of a design neither Republic nor Separatist were taking shape—sleek, lethal, and unlike anything in known space.
Anakin came up beside her. "They're… monstrous," he said, his voice hollow. "These aren't patrol ships. They're meant to end wars."
Padmé nodded. "And right now, they're not ours."
They descended into the capital with minimal fanfare. Cassian would not greet them. He hadn't responded to Padmé's personal message, nor the Jedi Council's entreaty. But they were met by his father, Daelus Damaris—once a weapons magnate, now a shadowy administrator of Cassian's empire.
The man looked older, colder. Time—and grief—had carved deep lines across his once-commanding features.
"You're bold to come here," Daelus said without pleasantries, ushering them into his private office. "Especially after your Senate failed to protect my son from treachery."
Anakin's hand twitched toward his belt, but Padmé spoke first. "That wasn't sanctioned. You know that. It was a rogue faction of the Order—people Palpatine has already quietly dealt with."
"Quietly," Daelus scoffed. "There's always silence before a betrayal."
Padmé sat, her voice steady. "Daelus… please. The Republic is bleeding. Kuat's yards are collapsing. Requam is tearing through the Mid Rim. If Cassian doesn't resupply our fleets, thousands more will die. Entire systems—children, families—gone."
Daelus narrowed his eyes. "And where was your compassion when your Senate spat on him? When the Jedi cut him and expected him to kneel?"
"He's alive," Anakin muttered. "That wasn't an assassination."
The older man's eyes flared. "You think I don't know that? But Cassian died that day, Skywalker. The idealist who thought he could uplift the galaxy with science… was murdered by your masters. What's left is something colder. Smarter. And far more dangerous."
Padmé leaned forward. "Then why did you bring us here? If your mind is made up—why not just send us away?"
Silence.
Daelus stood and turned to the viewport. Outside, construction frames were assembling a titanic vessel with a curvature similar to Star Forge designs. Not one ship. A mobile fortress.
"Because Cassian left me with discretion over civilian tech exports," he finally said. "Because part of me—some foolish old remnant—still believes the Republic can be saved."
Anakin stepped closer to the window, staring out at the war machines with a sinking feeling in his chest. "If you still believe that… then help us."
Padmé's voice cracked. "Please. If not for the Republic, then for the people who will die without those supplies."
Daelus did not turn around.
"I'll speak to him," he said after a long pause. "But no promises. He has… changed. And what he's building now doesn't care about your war or your Republic."
As the sun dipped behind the construction fields, casting the Corellian shipyards in a crimson hue, Padmé felt the weight of the galaxy pressing against her. They had come seeking hope.
But all they had found was silence wrapped in steel.