The construction site hovered in the void between stars—unregistered, hidden in a sliver of space shadowed by a dying gas giant. Here, Serion's flagship was being born.
It had no official designation, only a codename whispered among the inner circle: Vox Obscura—The Voice of Shadows.
Forged from neutron-forged alloy reinforced with Rakatan energy-lattices, the ship would be the first to house a Darkspace core—an experimental drive system derived from stolen Rakatan schematics recovered in the Nar'Thul raid. Its hull absorbed light rather than reflected it. Its power systems were designed to function off-grid indefinitely. Entire levels were devoted to command AI neural nodes, while others contained Spartan staging platforms, mobile Rakatan forges, and genetic laboratories tuned for war doctrine adaptation.
Taliya stood at the forward viewport of the skeletal command deck. Below her, swarms of drones and Spartan-engineers coordinated with impossible precision. For now, the ship was a husk. But soon, it would become the Imperium's blade.
Serion watched from a higher platform, arms behind his back. "This is not a weapon," he said.
Taliya turned. "Then what is it?"
"A lesson. That darkness, when shaped with clarity, doesn't destroy civilization—it redefines it."
On Muunilinst, beneath vaults of silver and steel, Director Thon Mereen reviewed his final transmission. He had served Serion once—quietly, profitably. But now, Sidious had summoned him through encoded orders: the clone initiative would be redirected. The Banking Clan would serve the Sith alone. Not Serion. Not the Imperium.
And so Mereen sealed the files, wiped the biosamples, and began the purge.
He never reached the exit.
Two red blades cleaved the sterile air.
Sidious stepped over the dying Muun's body, expression calm. "Ambition without control is rot," he said, before vanishing into shadow. The clones were his now. The debt was paid—in blood.
Back on Naboo, Queen Amidala stood at the edge of the Gungan sacred grove, robes dusted with dew, breath visible in the early mist.
Boss Nass approached, flanked by Gungan warriors and tribal elders. Tension bristled. History weighed heavily.
But Amidala knelt.
"My people are suffering. Your people are strong. I ask not for surrender—but for alliance."
There was silence.
Then a grunt. A nod.
"Weesa fight together," Boss Nass said. "For Naboo."
Preparations began at once.
While Republic bureaucracy sputtered on Coruscant, two ancient peoples—one of towers, one of swamps—united under common threat. Naboo's engineers rearmed plasma turrets and royal starfighters. The Gungans mobilized legions, war beasts, and energy shields.
And above them all, the Federation armada loomed.
Anakin Skywalker sat in the hangar, legs swinging from the open cockpit of a Naboo starfighter. R2-D2 warbled below, his dome scanning diagnostics with cheerful efficiency.
"You ready?" Anakin grinned. "I've flown simulators harder than this."
"You are not authorized to fly," a technician barked. "That's a live—wait, where's the droid going?!"
By the time they realized what was happening, Anakin had launched.
In orbit, the battle had begun. Gungan forces clashed with droid legions on the plains below, their shield domes holding for now. Jedi forces, led by Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi, had penetrated the palace to confront the Sith warrior revealed at last: Darth Maul.
Twin sabers met twin blades.
The boy soared through the chaos, dodging cannon fire. "I'll try spinning—that's a good trick!" he shouted, R2 shrieking.
Inside the droid control ship, chaos reigned as Anakin's fighter burst through a hangar and unloaded a barrage into the power matrix.
The core exploded.
The signal to the droid army died in an instant.
In the throne room of Theed, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan fought like twin currents of the Force against Maul's savage elegance. But darkness had patience, and Maul struck true—his saber slicing deep through Qui-Gon's chest.
Obi-Wan screamed, rage surging, but he held it back. Waited.
Then struck.
The half of Maul's body that fell into the reactor shaft still clutched its saber.
The aftermath was blurred motion: Naboo's liberation, captured viceroys, broken trade routes. But within the Jedi Temple, something more seismic had cracked.
Qui-Gon was dead. Anakin lived. And Obi-Wan stood before the Council not as a Padawan, but as a Knight.
"He is dangerous," Mace Windu said, eyeing the boy.
"He is the Chosen One," Obi-Wan answered, voice tight with grief and conviction.
"We will monitor his training," Yoda said at last. "Much fear in him, there is."
"But potential also," Ki-Adi-Mundi added.
And so it was done.
Anakin Skywalker was accepted for Jedi training.
In the Eclipse chamber, Serion studied the burning image of the Trade Federation control ship. He made no move to show emotion. Only his words shifted.
"The boy—Skywalker—is more than I expected."
Taliya frowned. "Do we move against him?"
"No," Serion said. "We watch. He is a fulcrum."
He turned to the holomap. Crimson threads now spread toward Mandalore.
"Send the emissaries to Sundari. Tell them we offer power, autonomy, and purpose."
"The Mandalorians won't be pawns," Taliya said.
"No," Serion agreed. "They'll be weapons sharpened on their own terms."
Rakatan tech would fuel the forges. Spartans would train the clans in next-gen warfare. Mandalore would not just rise—it would evolve.
And it would not forget who armed it.
In the Senate chambers, Palpatine bowed graciously as the appointment was made official.
"Chancellor Palpatine of Naboo," the speaker announced.
The gallery erupted in applause.
He smiled softly, eyes lowered.
But deep inside, Sidious exhaled with satisfaction. The Naboo gambit had worked. The Republic had bent, ever so slightly. Soon, it would break.
His clone assets were secured. The Trade Federation weakened. Valorum discredited. The Jedi divided.
Everything was falling into place.
A thousand systems would soon cry out for leadership.
And he would answer.
Far from it all, in the cold shadow of an asteroid field, the Vox Obscura began to stir.
Its core hummed.
Its dark engines flexed.
And Serion, standing on the bridge beside Taliya, simply whispered:
"Let the galaxy prepare for war."