Word of Aurex spread—not through holonet news, but in fragments. Smugglers spoke of ships that never returned. Refugees whispered about a planet that destroyed a cruiser without losing its soul.
And on far Rim worlds—Jabiim, Garel, Onderon—those whispers ignited.
Cells that had never spoken to each other began organizing.
Someone, somewhere, had drawn blood from the Empire—and lived.
And that was enough.
A freighter dropped into Aurex space unannounced.
No codes.
No weapons.
Just desperation.
They called themselves the Ember Vow—a rebel fragment from the Mid Rim. They'd lost their base three weeks ago. Their fuel line was shot. But they carried data slates filled with tactical logs and a holo message.
From Bail Organa.
Toren, Mira, and Tarn stood silent as the message played.
Bail's voice was tired, steady.
"We hear you. We need you. If you can still stand—we'll make room beside us."
Toren turned to Mira.
And she nodded.
The Ember Vow stayed for four days.
Shared data.
Studied Aurex systems.
Trained with Tarn's scouts.
When they left, two of their best stayed behind. And one of Aurex's engineers left with them—volunteering to spread tech blueprints into other rebel cells.
It wasn't surrender.
It was alliance.
For the first time, Aurex didn't stand alone.
And in the sky above, a new relay satellite ignited.
Broadcasting on encrypted rebel frequencies.
The message was simple:
AUREX STANDS. JOIN US.
On Coruscant, Arven smashed a monitor as the report came in.
Not of the loss.
Of the ripple.
"The Outer Rim is burning with belief," his aide stammered.
"Contain it."
"We can't."
Arven stared at the flickering map of rebel-sympathetic systems.
Then pointed to Aurex's quadrant.
"No more games. No more probes. Send the Vader protocols."
The aide paled. "Sir, that's not… active policy."
Arven's voice was ice.
"It is now."