The Hidden Hand of Creation
In the blackened depths of the Unknown Regions, beyond the reach of hyperspace lanes and the grasp of the Jedi , a world drifted in silent malice Exegol, the throne world of the Sith Eternal. Lightning raged across its skies like divine wrath, illuminating towers of obsidian and spires lined with arcane machinery. It was here that Darth Sidious, Emperor of the galaxy, waged his most secret war not against the Rebellion, but against mortality itself.
In chambers carved with Sith runes older than memory, Palpatine stood before the birthing vats tall, cylindrical vessels containing floating forms, suspended in amniotic fluid and shadow. Some were malformed, twitching abominations; others had once shown promise, only to be reduced to lifeless husks.
He approached a lone cylinder. Within it floated a boy, barely grown, perfectly formed but lifeless in soul. A clone. Not of himself alone but a synthesis.
"The blood of Vader. The will of the Sith. The perfection I demand."
Beside him knelt a figure in black robes, a Sith geneticist and acolyte of the dark sciences. "The subject's midichlorian count remains unstable, my Lord. Even with Skywalker's genetic template "
"Enough," Palpatine growled, raising a hand. The acolyte's throat seized, and he collapsed, choking.
"Do you know what my master sought?" Sidious said aloud, voice echoing through the cavernous chamber. "Plagueis the Wise… believed life itself could be shaped like clay. But he feared the will of the Force."
A cruel smile curled on his withered lips.
"I do not."
Palpatine stepped forward and placed a hand on the tank. The Force swirled, whispering resisting until his will crushed it. The clone's body convulsed, then stilled. It was breathing.
"Not a weapon," Palpatine mused. "Not a servant. A vessel. My son."
He turned to the shadows beyond the chamber. "Begin preparations. Send him to the outer worlds. Let him disappear from history… until the time is right."
Thus was born the first echo of what would become Rey not a daughter, but a distant legacy of Sith alchemy and imperial ambition
Yoda in Exile
Far from Exegol, on the swamp world of Dagobah, another presence stirred ancient, patient, and weighed by sorrow. Yoda, last of the Jedi High Council, sat cross-legged in the hollow of a gnarled tree. Mist hung in the air, thick with the breath of the living Force. Around him, the darkness whispered… but it did not command him.
He had felt it.
The tremor in the Force the unnatural birth that had occurred. Life, forged by power, not the will of the cosmic Force. It was a violation.
"Palpatine," Yoda muttered. "Learned he has. From his master… and more."
But Yoda dared not act. Not yet. The galaxy was still bleeding from the fall of the Jedi. The survivors were scattered, the Rebellion not yet strong enough. Any action would be seen, crushed.
Instead, he reached out through the Force, through memory.
To Kenobi. To the children.
To hope.
A Hidden War
On Exegol, the Emperor's laboratories churned with purpose. Genetic materials scraped from ancient tombs, stolen from Jedi archives, harvested from Anakin Skywalker during the earliest days of his servitude were blended, tested, rejected. The Sith alchemists toiled in fear and awe.
Palpatine watched them with contempt. "One child," he said. "Just one, stable and strong, will suffice."
He reviewed a long table of failed attempts. Some bore resemblance to himself. Others to Vader. None possessed the balance he required. Not until this newest clone flawed in Force potential, yes, but physically viable and obedient.
A son. A shadow.
"Prepare him for transport," Sidious ordered. "Let him be hidden in the Mid Rim. No titles. No legacy. Only the blood he carries shall matter when the time comes."
And so the dark seed was planted, destined to grow in secret, nurtured by none but fate itself.
Rumors in the Force
Back in the galaxy's political heart, whispers began to spread. Strange shipments. Unusual disappearances from Imperial databanks. Entire sectors rerouted and locked down by emergency decrees from the Emperor's inner circle.
Mon Mothma and Bail Organa, working in shadows, noted these shifts with increasing alarm. Their nascent rebellion watched the skies for signs of a greater darkness but the true threat lay hidden in the dark between stars.
Obi-Wan Kenobi, meanwhile, moved silently on the Outer Rim. Watching. Waiting. For the day Anakin Skywalker might be redeemed or destroyed.
And Vader… Vader felt it.
The disturbances in the Force. Something hidden. Something… new.
But every time he reached for it, Palpatine's shadow loomed, severing the thread. Whatever his master was planning, it was meant to be hidden even from him.
"One day," Vader vowed in silence. "I will uncover it. And end it."