Location: Kadavo and Zygerrian Outer Territories
Date: 22 BBY – One Week After the Fall of the Throne
Southern Barricade – Former Slave Citadel Gamma-17
Sand kicked up beneath repulsor tanks as Cain stood atop a mobile command platform, visor down, scanning the wreckage of what had once been a Zygerrian fighting pit—a gruesome amphitheater where children and Wookiees had once been forced to battle for the amusement of nobles and mercs.
Now it was ash.
Smoke rose from collapsed towers and slave holding cells. The Paladins, supported by Spartan units and Clone troopers of the Eternal Alliance, moved like a clean-up wave—liberating, treating, and cataloging every remaining Zygerrian facility.
"Sector Twelve clear," came the voice of John."
Cain nodded. "Same in Sector Thirteen. Underground pens neutralized. Droids salvaging records for tribunal."
John stepped up beside him, his armor scratched and dust-covered. "That was the last one in this quadrant."
Cain exhaled, lifting his helmet off. The wind blew through his white hair, sweat drying on his skin.
"Seven fighting pits shut down. Two thousand freed. All within a week." He paused. "You've done well, John."
John didn't smile—just nodded. "Still more to go."
They turned back toward the next dropship zone, boarding silently as the tactical map updated.
Central Spire – New Kadavo Administrative Tower
Meanwhile, far from the fire, Seris sat in a rebuilt council chamber, dressed in the diplomatic officer uniform of the Eternal Alliance—sleeves rolled, her braid tied tightly, datapads open in front of her.
Around the table sat an unlikely coalition:
Padmé Amidala, calm and radiant in blue senatorial robes.
Mon Mothma, attentive and meticulous.
Zygerrian transitional governor Ral Vinn, nervous but determined.
Two Twi'lek community elders, representing freed laborers.
And a rotating presence of Mandalorian and Paladin advisors filtering in.
The past few days had been a storm of diplomacy: re-establishing territory, implementing protection laws, overseeing emergency infrastructure programs, and deciding how Zygerrians themselves would participate in the rebirth of their homeworld—without falling back into tyranny.
Seris tapped her fingers thoughtfully against the desk.
"We need planetary law reform first. Freedom declarations don't mean much if the people have no legal protection."
She looked to Governor Ral. "Your people need to lead it. Not the Alliance."
Ral cleared his throat. "You're asking us to put former slaves in positions of power over nobles who—"
Padmé's tone was gentle, but firm. "Your nobles lost that right the day they chose profit over compassion."
Mon Mothma leaned forward. "And your people need to see justice carried out with fairness. No one's advocating revenge—only reform."
Seris looked to the Twi'lek elder. "You've reviewed the reconstruction charters?"
The Twi'lek elder nodded slowly. "We have… and we accept. So long as the reparations begin immediately, and our families are protected."
Seris stood, adjusting her sleeves.
"They will be. And so will your legacy."
Cain stood on the balcony of an administrative tower, drinking caf from a steel flask. Dust still coated his armor from the field. He leaned forward, watching the lights of reconstruction efforts flicker across the ruined city.
The twin moons glowed above.
"Word from Seris is promising," said a voice behind him.
Cain turned slightly to see Padmé, dressed down now, cloak thrown over her shoulder. Her gaze followed his.
"She said the Twi'leks have agreed to help form a joint council with the new governor. Even the Mandalorians are offering to help with rebuilding."
Cain nodded. "She's good at this. Better than she thinks."
Padmé smiled. "You're all… younger than I expected. Yet somehow older than most."
Cain didn't answer for a moment. He sipped his caf, the weight of his choices heavy in his golden eyes.
"This was never about just winning. It was about changing the galaxy. From the ground up."
Padmé walked closer.
"Do you think it's working?"
Cain looked down at the people—Zygerrians and freed slaves—working side by side in the rubble.
"I think... it's beginning."
Underground Memorial Site
At the foundation of what would soon become the Memorial of Chains, John knelt beside a mass grave—one of many discovered during the campaign.
Only a smooth black stone, carved with a name he didn't know.
Sarah stood behind him, arms folded, saying nothing.
"I don't get why people do this," John said softly.
"Slavery?" Sarah asked.
He shook his head. "Forget. Pretend it never happened."
She crouched beside him.
"Because facing it is harder."
John stood and placed the stone with the others.
"Then we make it impossible to forget."