The Jedi Temple loomed silent and heavy with the weight of destiny. Anakin Skywalker paced within the Council chamber, his breath short, heart pounding. He had seen the truth—Palpatine was the Sith Lord, the architect behind the war and the rot in the Republic's soul. But when he had revealed this to the Jedi, the Council met him not with gratitude, but suspicion.
Mace Windu's voice echoed with solemn resolve. "If this is true, then we will move against him. You are not to come."
Anakin's fists clenched. They didn't trust him. Even after everything.
"I'll do what I must," he muttered and left the Council chamber.
Across the galaxy, Cassian Damaris stood aboard his flagship in orbit above Corellia. News of the confrontation reached him through encrypted lines. He intercepted Obi-Wan's intended mission to Mustafar, rerouting the Jedi Master under the guise of diplomatic intervention elsewhere. There would be no confrontation between old friends. Cassian would not allow it.
Back on Coruscant, Mace Windu led a contingent of Jedi Masters into the Chancellor's office. Palpatine rose from his chair, slow and deliberate, his voice silken and full of mockery.
"So... it has come to this."
The battle was fierce, but not decisive. As Windu pressed Palpatine to the window's edge, lightning crackling from the Sith's fingertips, Anakin arrived. His eyes darted between master and monster—between duty and desperation.
"He must stand trial!" Anakin shouted.
"He is too dangerous to be left alive!" Windu retorted.
In a single motion, Skywalker ignited his blade and struck down Mace Windu, sending the Jedi Master spiraling from the tower.
Silence fell. Palpatine rose, twisted and grinning.
"Rise, Lord Vader."
And Anakin did.
What followed was slaughter. The Jedi Temple burned as Vader led clone troopers into the sacred halls, slaying all—including the padawans. Smoke rose into the Coruscant night, the light of the Jedi fading like dying stars.
That evening, Palpatine addressed the Senate. Clad in robes of shadow, his voice thundered across the chamber.
"The attempt on my life has left me scarred... and deformed. But I assure you... my resolve has never been stronger!"
He raised his arms. "Henceforth, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society!"
Thunderous applause erupted. The people cheered their own chains.
But not all bowed.
In the shadows of Corellia, Cassian moved. As the Republic fell, he disappeared the remaining Separatist Council members—leaders of corporations and syndicates—into the deepest sectors of his territory. There were no executions. Only negotiations. Their wealth, their resources, and their networks were absorbed into Cassian's machine.
He didn't mourn the Jedi or the Republic. They were relics of a failed system. But he saw opportunity in the ashes.
The galaxy, once whole, fractured.
On one side stood Emperor Palpatine, with Vader at his side, ruling with fear and fire.
On the other stood Cassian Damaris, the Architect of Corellia, master of the industrial arm of the galaxy. With his own fleets, his own clones, and the secret weapon of the Star Forge, he built not an empire—but an alternative.
The war was over.
The real conflict had only begun.