The Eternal Emperor

Imperial Calendar - Founding Year (Excerpt from the Archives of the Emperor's Throneworld) 

The galaxy, already choked by the fires of civil war, bore witness to a night of unspeakable carnage—the Fall of the Jedi Temple. Though history shall forever mark it as a victory for order and the triumph of loyalty, there remains an undeniable shadow upon those events, one that even time itself cannot fully cleanse. 

What began with blaster fire concluded with something far more insidious. Flames, unleashed by the searing tongues of flametroopers, crept across sacred murals and centuries-old relics. Fragments of shattered holocrons glittered amidst the ruin, their wisdom now lost to eternity. Stun charges reduced the defiant to helpless convulsions, while the cold efficiency of rotary blasters silenced those whose courage had not yet waned. 

There was no distinction between veteran Knights, fresh Padawans, or even the ancient masters who had once presided in solemn council. All fell beneath the tide. Witnesses describe temple guards striking down Jedi they had once served beside with a zeal born of newfound conviction. Only those too young and unsuspecting to their predecessors were spared. 

An eerie silence descended when the last saber extinguished, and ash settled like mourning veils upon the ruin. The final vestiges of the Republic's peacekeepers lay motionless upon the desecrated temple grounds, their proud Order annihilated in a single night. 

Yet, as the galaxy reeled from the events of that night, a far graver tragedy was poised to unfold. 

In the days that followed, the Republic, bolstered by its Grand Army, was on the very cusp of victory. The Separatist leadership had been driven to the brink, cornered. The dream of a unified galaxy—one forged through sacrifice and hardship—seemed within reach. 

It was then, at the pivotal moment of triumph, that the Jedi enacted their final, most heinous act of treason. However, while evidence may deem them the sole perpetrators... everyone knew, that it would take much more than just the handful remaining Jedi to allow for such treason to hit so deep within the Senate, in its very chambers. 

No triumphant chorus greeted the Empire's birth, only the solemn echoes of mourning bells and the lingering stench of betrayal... and a chorus of cries for vengeance. 

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The sun dipped low over Coruscant, casting the city-planet in hues of fiery gold and deepening crimson. The ever-present hum of repulsorlifts echoed in the distance, blending with the chatter of bustling streets below. Inside the quiet serenity of Padmé Amidala's apartment, the atmosphere stood in stark contrast to the chaos that had engulfed the galaxy. 

Anakin Skywalker, clad in dark robes still marked with faint scorches from the battle at the Temple, stepped through the doorway. His face was a mask of grim determination, but his eyes softened as they met Padmé's worried gaze. She stood by the balcony, the evening breeze tousling her hair. Her delicate features were lined with tension, the weight of unspoken questions hanging heavily between them. 

"Anakin," Padmé breathed, moving toward him. "You're back." 

He nodded slowly, his voice heavy. "It's done." 

Padmé faltered, her breath catching. "Is it finally over?" There was a fragile hope in her voice, like a flickering candle fighting against the wind. 

Anakin's expression tightened, his gaze dropping momentarily to the polished floor. He wanted to tell her yes, that peace had finally arrived—but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he met her eyes, his voice low but resolute. "Soon." 

Padmé's shoulders sagged under the weight of his answer. Before she could form another question, Anakin continued, his tone clipped and purposeful. "The CIS leadership has gathered on Mustafar. I've been appointed to root them out and finally bring an end to the war." 

The finality of his words hung between them. Padmé's lips parted as if to protest, but Anakin, sensing her rising turmoil, pressed forward, his voice gentler now. "Soon, the Snate will gather. But I need you to promise me something, Padmé." 

He reached out, his hand resting over her stomach. A moment passed as his palm lingered there, warm and protective. His voice was raw with pleading. "Don't attend the gathering. Not for me, but for our child." 

Padmé's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "Anakin, there will be protection—" 

Anakin shook his head firmly, his expression darkening. "No. I know there will be. But that won't be enough. Not this time. The Senate gathering is a perfect target for whatever remnants of treachery remain." His voice cracked with a rare vulnerability. "I can't lose you. Not now, not when we're so close." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "So close to a peaceful life... the life we always dreamed of." 

Padmé's resolve wavered, her heart torn between loyalty to the Republic and the desperate plea of the man she loved. She saw the weight he carried, the war etched into every line of his face. Slowly, a small, bittersweet smile broke through her worry. She nodded. 

"I'll stay," she whispered. 

Relief washed over Anakin's face, though it was fleeting. He exhaled slowly, as if releasing some of the burden on his shoulders. "Thank you." 

His hand lingered for a moment longer before he reluctantly withdrew it. He straightened, his expression returning to the stoic mask he now wore so often. "I have to go," he said quietly. 

Padmé watched him make his way toward the speeder waiting beyond the balcony. The air seemed colder without his presence beside her. As he reached the vehicle, he paused and looked back at her, his gaze lingering as though trying to capture every detail of her face. 

"I love you," he said softly. 

"I love you too," Padmé replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. 

With a final nod, Anakin mounted the speeder and engaged the thrusters. The repulsorlift hummed as it lifted into the air, carrying him swiftly into the fading light of the Coruscant sky. The wind whipped through his hair, but he barely noticed—his thoughts were already focused on Mustafar and the grim task that awaited him. 

Padmé stood there, her smile faltering as the speeder disappeared into the horizon. The weight of uncertainty pressed heavily on her chest. Though she had promised to stay safe for their child, a gnawing sense of dread gnawed at the edges of her mind. 

========================= 

He cast a glance back toward the fading silhouette of her apartment, the golden light of its balcony flickering like a fragile beacon against the deepening dusk. The sight tugged at something raw inside him. Padmé had promised to stay, but the galaxy was unpredictable, and so were the whims of war. A single slip, a single chance encounter, and everything he held dear could be shattered. 

No. He couldn't take that risk. 

Jaw clenched, Anakin reached for the communicator on his wrist. The familiar static cleared, and a holo-image flickered to life. Captain Rex stood at attention, clad in the distinctive blue-accented armor of the 501st. His helmet was clipped to his side, revealing his scarred face and sharp, attentive eyes. 

"General Skywalker," Rex greeted crisply. 

Anakin nodded, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. "At ease, Rex." 

Rex blinked in mild surprise before his posture relaxed. "What can I do for you, sir?" 

Anakin hesitated for only a moment. "I need a favor." 

"Anything, sir." Rex said without missing a beat. His loyalty was unwavering. 

Anakin's eyes darkened with resolve. "I need you to gather whoever's available—anyone not already tied down with current operations. Have them watch over Senator Amidala. Make sure she doesn't leave the apartment during the upcoming Senate session." 

Rex's brows furrowed slightly. "Is there a particular threat we should be aware of, sir?" 

Anakin exhaled sharply, glancing briefly at the endless horizon. "Let's just say... I can't take any chances. Not with her." His voice softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. "Keep her safe, Rex. That's all that matters." 

Understanding flickered in Rex's eyes. He straightened, his expression resolute. "Consider it done, General. I'll assign my best men to the task. We won't let her out of our sight." 

Anakin's shoulders sagged slightly with relief. "Thank you, Rex." 

The captain gave a sharp salute. "Always, sir." 

As the transmission cut off, Anakin leaned back in the speeder, exhaling slowly. The gnawing fear inside him subsided, though it did not vanish entirely. At least now, Padmé would be protected. He had to believe that. 

The path ahead was dark, filled with uncertainty and bloodshed—but if he could just hold on a little longer, maybe—just maybe—they would finally have the peace they both longed for. 

==================== 

The shuttle hissed as it settled onto the scorched durasteel platform, its repulsorlifts humming before fading into a dull whine. The site that greeted it was one of grim efficiency. What had once been the proud and hallowed grounds of the Jedi Temple now resembled a military staging area, strewn with wreckage, scorched stone, and the acrid scent of ion discharge. 

Clone troopers moved methodically, their white and blue armor splattered with soot and dark stains. Some hauled away charred equipment while others loaded body bags onto repurposed transport sleds. The somber dirge of military order filled the air, punctuated by the occasional bark of a commander or the static hum of a nearby comm relay. 

Down the ramp of the shuttle strode a figure with the confidence of a man accustomed to command. Captain Wilhuff Tarkin's sharp eyes surveyed the scene, his thin lips pressed into a line of disdain. His neatly pressed olive-green uniform remained impeccable despite the oppressive atmosphere. As he descended, a clone commander in full battle armor approached, his helmet tucked under one arm. 

" Captain Tarkin," the clone acknowledged, snapping a crisp salute. 

Tarkin returned the gesture with a curt nod before withdrawing a small device from his belt. He pressed his thumb against it, and the holographic projection of a verification code flickered to life between them. 

The clone commander observed the code, his visor dimly reflecting the shimmering digits. After a brief moment, he straightened. "Code confirmed, sir. All preparations have been completed. A transport is awaiting to take you and your entourage to the Senate Chambers within the hour. There may be unavoidable detours due to increased scrutiny from their personal guards." 

"Understandable," Tarkin replied, his tone clipped. "I will notify you when we are ready to move out." 

The clone commander saluted once more, pivoting sharply on his heel before marching away. 

Tarkin watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable. With a faint exhale, he turned and ascended back into the shuttle. The shadows within seemed to deepen as he crossed the threshold. 

Inside, five figures stood unmoving, their presence palpable. The dim lighting glinted off their attire—dark armor interwoven with robes, the fabric etched with intricate designs that hinted at hidden symbols and arcane meanings. Subtle but deadly, suspiciously shaped cylinders glinted from their belts, shifting slightly as they moved. 

Four of the figures were roughly the same height, each exuding nothing on the outside, their heads fully obscured by their robes. 

The fifth figure was a monstrous contrast. 

Standing easily two heads taller than the others, the towering man was a titan of metal. His armor was black as the void, devoid of any ornamental trim but covered in weird carvings that seemed to shimmer faintly under the dim lighting. Each etched symbol pulsed with a strange, malevolent energy. Unlike his companions, he wore no robes—his entire form was encased in thick plating that made him twice the width of any ordinary man. No scars marred the armor's surface, as though it had never seen battle. Heavy pauldrons covered his shoulders, while his gauntlets looked capable of crushing skulls with ease. 

Despite the weight of the armor, he stood with unnatural ease, as if it were as light as cloth upon his frame. His breathing came through a rebreather built into his helm, the sound low and menacing, like a beast prowling the edge of darkness. 

Tarkin's gaze swept over them all, lingering on the armored behemoth for only a second longer than the others. "We begin deployment within the hour... lieutenant Dogma." 

A nod was all the answer he received as the massive soldier lowered his head.