The vaulted throne chamber beneath the spires of the Imperial Citadel on Coruscant trembled with raw power. Lightning danced across the obsidian walls, casting twisted reflections of pain and fury.
Vader knelt, motionless, at the foot of the Emperor's throne.
"You failed me."
The words came not as a whisper, but a thunderclap—a verdict pronounced by the dark side itself. Vader remained silent, his fists clenched, jaw locked beneath his black mask.
Palpatine descended the steps with unnatural grace, robes whispering like the tide of death. "The Rebels," he spat, "have stolen our greatest secret. My weapon. My vision!"
Blue lightning erupted from his fingertips, slamming into Vader's chest The Sith Lord arched backward, skin frying, limbs spasming under the torrent of dark energy and the chamber echoed with the sickening crack of muscle tearing under strain.
"You swore," Palpatine snarled, "that nothing would escape your grip!"
The lightning ceased. Vader collapsed to one knee, smoke rising from his body. He did not cry out. Not once.
"Forgive me… my master," he said, voice grating and low.
Palpatine's gaze narrowed. "You will earn forgiveness, Lord Vader. Find the plans. Destroy those who touched them. Leave no survivors."
Vader rose slowly, like a storm given form. The fire of humiliation boiled into something deeper resolve. "It will be done."
Palpatine turned away, casting his gaze toward the towering hologram of the Death Star. A glowing schematic rotated in the air, its spherical frame incomplete, its core exposed.
"The design flaw," he muttered. "That cursed exhaust vent. A weakness born from rushed ambition."
The Emperor raised a hand. "It will be erased."
"Such a modification…" the lead Kuat engineer began from the shadows, "…will require immense restructuring. A new energy venting system. Tens of thousands of credits in materials and manpower."
Palpatine's lip curled. "Then you shall pay it. And so shall every loyal world in the Core."
The engineer paled, nodding quickly. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"The Death Star," Palpatine said coldly, "must be perfection. If it is to rule by fear, it must be invincible. No flaw. No hope."
In deep space, the Eclipse surged through hyperspace. Vader's wrath fueled the entire vessel.
Across the stars, probes, agents, and Sith acolytes tracked transmissions, intercepted encrypted chatter, and followed the faintest traces of the stolen plans. Every world that showed even a glimmer of resistance was marked for investigation.
On the Outer Rim moon of Polis Massa, a hidden Rebel courier ship was found in orbit—its crew executed by stormtroopers before interrogation could begin. The databanks were wiped, the transmission incomplete.
But Vader sensed it. A fragment of the Force, buried in one of the survivors' minds.
He stood in the smoldering ruins of the hangar, hand wrapped around the throat of a Rebel technician.
"Where did you send it?"
The man gasped. "We… we split the data. Fragments… sent through separate relays… can't be traced…"
Vader's grip tightened, lifting the man off the ground. "You underestimate the power… of the dark side."
With a snap of his wrist, the technician's body crumpled. Vader turned to his troopers. "Begin system-wide sweeps. Destroy every transmission hub within five parsecs."
The Rebellion staggered under the onslaught.
Bases once hidden in asteroids, caves, or orbital platforms were discovered with uncanny precision. Some were obliterated from orbit. Others fell to infiltration, betrayal, or brute force.
The leadership convened in secret, deeper underground than ever before—Dantooine, then Ryloth, then a drifting carrier lost in the galactic fringe.
Mon Mothma's face was grim as she addressed the council. "We underestimated the Empire's reach."
"And its wrath," Bail Organa added. "They are searching everywhere. Tarkin has deployed planetary blockades. People are being executed just for asking questions."
"The plans must survive," Mon said. "Even if we do not."
Leia, watching silently from the edge of the chamber, nodded once. Though groomed in the shadows of power, she had seen enough Imperial cruelty to understand what was at stake. Luke stood beside her, questioning, always questioning—about the nature of the Force, of their father, of the Empire's lies.
They would have to choose soon. The galaxy would not wait.
Back on Coruscant, inside a vault layered with Sith sigils and magnetic seals, the Emperor brooded alone. Holograms flickered before him—projections of shipyards, of rebel uprisings, of Thrawn's blue-skinned visage as the Grand Admiral submitted reports from the Unknown Regions.
But Palpatine's eyes were not on the war.
They were on the Force.
He reached into the void, drawing from ancient knowledge, studying the Ones—the powerful Force-wielders of Mortis—and the corrupted entity known as Abeloth. The forbidden archives, once sealed even to the Jedi Council, had been unlocked.
"Balance is an illusion," he whispered. "Power is the truth."
His gaze drifted to the shadows behind the holoprojector. "And even the gods of the Force will kneel."
Aboard the refitted Death Star, construction resumed with feverish urgency. The exhaust port had been removed. In its place, a new venting system was installed, hidden within layers of adaptive shielding and rotating armor. The weapon, though still far from complete, had evolved.
Stronger. More ruthless. And far more expensive.
Entire planetary economies were bent to its construction. Civilian industry was nationalized. Food, medicine, even planetary defenses were stripped away and redirected to fund the Empire's ultimate symbol.
Palpatine did not care.
Fear would bring order. Fear would end rebellion.
And when the weapon was ready… there would be no one left to question him.