The Senate chamber buzzed with unease.
This was no ordinary session. Holoprojectors had been calibrated to a private frequency, encrypted and untraceable. Across the elevated platforms, delegates murmured, unsure if the transmission would even come through.
Then the lights dimmed. Static shimmered. And there he was.
Cassian Damaris.
No fanfare. No insignia. The image that emerged on the chamber's central disc was not the young visionary who had once inspired half the Outer Rim with his technological dreams. This man was paler. His voice void of warmth. His eyes—cold synth blue—glowed faintly, artificially.
Behind him, only darkness.
"Senators," he said, the word itself sounding like a relic. "Your emergency request has been acknowledged. Speak."
Bail Organa stepped forward first. His tone was measured, diplomatic. "Cassian… I come not as a politician today, but as a father and citizen. Our people are dying. The Outer Rim is burning. The Republic… needs your help."
Cassian blinked slowly. "You didn't need me when you allowed the Jedi to storm my labs. You didn't need me when you spun narratives about rogue weapons and missing ships. Now that your fleets are crumbling and Kuat can't keep up, you remember me?"
Murmurs rippled across the platforms.
Mon Mothma joined Bail. "We were wrong. Some among us doubted your intentions—but we never sanctioned the attack. I opposed the motion from the start. But this isn't about blame anymore. The Clone Wars are escalating beyond containment. If we lose more Mid Rim sectors, the Core itself will be vulnerable."
Cassian's hologram shifted slightly, revealing a projection of the galaxy with red splotches—systems lost to Requam and the CIS.
"You're already losing," he replied. "Without my supply chains, your fuel logistics are collapsing. Without my AI-assisted command structures, your clone battalions move like blind cattle. And Kuat's new capital ship just broke apart during hyperspace alignment. A shame."
Mon Mothma swallowed. "Then let us repair the trust. Name your terms. We'll listen this time."
For a long moment, there was only the low hum of the chamber.
Then Cassian spoke, colder than ever.
"You mistake me for the man I used to be."
He stepped forward, his image towering above them now.
"I offered the galaxy enlightenment. The ability to evolve past war, past scarcity. You chose politics, corruption, and fear. So I've chosen evolution—without you."
The chamber darkened. Behind him, faint blueprints flickered—hulking war machines, next-gen droids, towering orbital foundries.
"You will continue your war. And you will lose. Slowly, painfully. I have no interest in restoring your Republic. But I will record your failure. I will study its collapse. And from the ashes, I will build something better."
Padmé stood now, her voice breaking. "Cassian… there are still good people. There are children in these systems. Families. This isn't just politics—it's life. They'll suffer."
Cassian tilted his head. "Then let them adapt. Or perish."
A chilling silence fell.
Senator Ask Aak of Malastare stood up, furious. "You'll doom the entire galaxy!"
"I'll shape its future," Cassian replied.
The feed began to flicker. "Your time is over. My role is not to prop up the crumbling. It's to engineer what comes next."
And with that, the transmission ended.
No final word. No closing note. Just blackness.
Across the chamber, delegates stood in stunned silence. No one spoke.
Palpatine, hidden in the shadows of his private viewing chamber, smiled faintly.
Cassian had become something far more useful than a loyal ally.
He had become inevitable.