Interesting Characters

The galaxy was changing. 

Worlds, once fractured by war and corruption, found themselves drawn into the iron grip of the Empire. Each reclaimed planet bore the mark of its new order—monolithic obelisks, towering banners, and the ever-present march of soldiers, both living and artificial. The wounds of the Clone Wars remained fresh, but the fires of conflict had not ceased; they had simply shifted—turned inward, into something far more insidious than planetary sieges and naval battles. 

For even as the Empire's forces secured victory after victory, another battle was starting to rear its head. 

A battle of belief. 

================================ 

The faith in the God-Emperor had taken root, spreading like wildfire across the Core Worlds and beyond. At first, it had been nothing more than whispers—soft prayers spoken in secret, reverence shared between soldiers and citizens alike. But in time, it became an institution, its presence felt in every major system under Imperial rule. 

Temples were raised, cathedrals built upon the ruins of Republic corruption. Every battle won, every system reclaimed, was hailed as divine will made manifest. The Empire was no longer merely a government—it was a crusade. 

And like all crusades, it had its enemies. 

To the faithful, the nonbelievers—many of them alien—were obstacles to be either converted or eradicated. The alien-controlled Outer Rim territories were a thorn in the Empire's side, resisting both rule and religion. 

Where once the divide between species had been a political question, it was now a theological one. 

The humans of the Empire, who had bled and died for their Emperor, saw themselves as chosen, ordained by destiny to rule the stars. The aliens who refused to bend the knee were seen not merely as dissidents, but heretics—ones that had rejected the new order. 

The Great Crusade was coming, and the galaxy would burn in its wake. 

================================ 

The year was 7 P.C. — Post Condita. 

The Empire had cemented its hold on the Core, its might spreading into the Mid Rim and beyond. What had once been a Republic held together by bureaucracy and infighting was now a single, unified war machine. 

Billions of droids marched under Imperial banners. 

Their ranks led by the true born of the Empire—clones engineered to be the ultimate soldiers. 

Each clone, once a disposable unit of war, was now a leader, entrusted with squads, platoons, entire legions of unwavering metal warriors. 

And still, it was not enough. The production of clones had skyrocketed. But for every new soldier born from the vats, more machines would be needed to match their march. 

This endless cycle of war and preparation was a sight to behold. To some, it was a marvel of efficiency, the purest form of order. 

To others, it was terrifying. 

One such man had watched the changes unfold with growing unease. 

A man who understood war better than most. 

And now, he had entered the lion's den. 

================================ 

Thrawn had long since recognized the truth. 

This was not merely an Empire—it was something far grander, far more terrible than the Republic that had preceded it. 

A war machine unlike any other. 

A doctrine of unity, devotion, and absolute obedience. 

A system of rule where power was centralized in a single, untouchable figure—the Emperor. 

And therein lay the problem, at least for the Empire. 

A single point of failure. 

Thrawn was a strategist. He had studied military histories, grand campaigns, victories and defeats. No government, no empire, no leader was invincible. There was always a weakness—always a way in. 

He had spent nearly four years within the Empire, observing, learning. The more he saw, the more he realized the scale of what was coming. A conflict was inevitable. 

Not just because the Chiss and the Empire were fundamentally different. 

Not just because of the alien divide that deepened with each passing day. 

But because the Emperor's will was absolute. 

And when he willed something to be destroyed, nothing could stop its zealots from marching towards it. 

Thrawn understood this. And yet, he had come. 

================================ 

The room was quiet. The air thick with unspoken tension. 

Before him sat the Emperor. 

The man was young—at least in appearance. His black hair, his slender build, his almost effortless grace—it was difficult to believe he was the same man who had orchestrated the fall of the Republic, the same ruler who commanded the loyalty of trillions. 

But Thrawn knew better. 

It was in his eyes—those terrible, glowing blue sigils, burning against the darkness. 

Thrawn had felt fear before. He had faced the unknown, stared down death itself in the void of space. 

But this was different. 

This was not the fear of battle, nor the uncertainty of an enemy's next move. 

This was the fear of something beyond reason. 

Something inhuman. 

And yet, he forced himself to remain composed. To play the game. 

Before them, the chessboard lay between them—black and white, pieces locked in battle, no clear victor in sight, just as Thrawn himself had engineered. He needded the Emperor to take notice of him and his abilities, but not feel threatened. 

A single black soldier moved forward. 

Thrawn's hand had barely left the piece before he noticed it— 

The white knight moved on its own. 

For a moment, silence. 

Then, Thrawn slowly raised his gaze. 

The Emperor was watching him. His expression unreadable, save for the small, knowing smile that played at his lips. 

He knows. 

Thrawn stiffened, his mind immediately crafting potential scenarios, contingencies, alternatives. He had been too bold, had thought himself able to maneuver within the Emperor's own domain. 

A mistake... no, he was sure he made none. 

And yet, before he could formulate his response, the Emperor simply tilted his head, resting it against his hand, and spoke. 

"It would not do to beat the emperor in his own domain… or something like that, right?" 

A moment of silence. 

Then, Thrawn gave the only response he could. 

A single, respectful nod. 

But not all was lost. 

There was still a path forward— highly accelerating his plans. 

If he could not outmaneuver the Emperor, then he would prove his worth here and now, if the Emperor hadn't seen it already. 

And so, he rose from his seat and knelt beside his chair. 

"Forgive my impudence, your highness" he said, his voice measured, controlled. 

The Emperor simply watched him. 

Then, after a pause, he spoke again. 

"You are good. Very good." 

"And only once have I seen someone as good as you…" 

"No… you might even be better." 

There was another pause. 

Then, slowly, the Emperor leaned forward. 

The blue sigils in his eyes burned, piercing through Thrawn like a blade. 

"So... tell me—what is your price?" 

A test. 

A challenge. 

And an opportunity. 

Thrawn exhaled slowly, knowing that his next words would define the future of his people. 

================================ 

The Imperial Palace was vast—a monument to power in both form and function. It loomed over Coruscant, a structure that was neither purely aesthetic nor brutally utilitarian, but a synthesis of both, designed for authority. For many, the mere sight of it was intimidating, but for a young girl raised within its walls, it was a home—even if it often felt like a gilded cage. 

Leia Skywalker wandered its halls, her small hands tracing the cool, dark walls as she walked. She had explored much of the palace before—its many grand halls, its libraries filled with knowledge beyond imagination, gathered from liberated worlds as well as conquered ones, its training grounds where elite warriors honed their craft—but she had yet to find the one thing she truly sought. 

Her father. 

She was only seven, but her mind was sharper than most adults. Her tutors often marveled at her ability to grasp concepts beyond her years, and though they tried to hide it, she could sense the unease in their voices when they spoke of her prowess in the Force, already surpassing the teenagers about to graduate and twice her age. 

A prodigy, they whispered. 

A true heir to the Skywalker name. 

But what did that matter if the man who gave her that name refused to see her? 

She had tried—many times. 

She had trained harder than anyone else, far surpassed her naive and frankly... dullard of a brother, and displayed a discipline far beyond her years, all in the hopes that he would notice. 

But no matter what she did, he was never there. 

Her father, Darth Vader, the Emperor's executioner, avoided her. 

She had only seen him a handful of times—always from a distance, his towering, armored figure a specter of cold indifference. He spoke to her rarely, and when he did, his words were distant, measured, as if he were speaking to a soldier rather than his daughter. 

He had given her everything except his time and presence... 

And so, she searched. 

Her small footsteps barely made a sound against the polished obsidian floors as she approached the massive doors of the Emperor's throne room. 

They stood imposing and unmoving, flanked by two rows of guards—Palace Guards in their flowing red robes, and Clone Troopers in stark white armor, their helmets concealing any trace of humanity. 

Leia had stood here before. Watched. Waited. Hoped. 

Surely, he had to be in there. 

Her father spent so much time in service to the Emperor, executing his will across the stars, that this was one of the few places where she could perhaps catch a glimpse of him. 

She stared up at the doors, her heart pounding slightly. 

Then, to her shock, the doors began to open. 

Her breath caught. 

Finally—! 

Her excitement turned to disappointment as the figure that emerged was not her father. 

Instead, it was a blue-skinned man, his expression blank, his red eyes unreadable. He was tall, but not as tall as Vader, and he carried himself with calculated precision, as if every step, every motion, was measured. 

Leia had never seen anyone like him before. 

A xeno, she realized. 

Her instinct was to glare, but before she could react, her body moved on its own. 

A sudden pressure wrapped around her limbs—not physical, but something deeper, something unseen. 

The Force. 

It was as if invisible strings had wrapped around her, pulling her gently forward. Her breath hitched, her mind racing. 

I can feel it—! 

But it's not me. 

It was him. 

The moment she crossed the threshold, she felt it—the sheer, suffocating weight of the Force that dominated the throne room. 

It was not oppressive, nor was it cruel. It did not push her down—it simply existed, an overwhelming tide against which her own presence was insignificant. 

And at the center of it all, sitting upon the throne, was the Emperor. 

He was not what she expected. 

She had seen him before, of course—holo-images, news broadcasts, grand speeches to the Empire—but seeing him in person was something else entirely. 

He was young, impossibly so. His dark hair fell elegantly around his face, his white garments making him look almost ethereal in contrast to the dark throne behind him. 

But it was his eyes that captured her. 

They were not the golden hue foretold of the Sith Order. They were a deep, hypnotic violet, glowing with an intensity that sent a shiver through her spine. 

There was power in those eyes, but also something else—understanding. 

And then, he smiled. 

"Leia." 

Her breath caught. 

His voice was warm—not like her tutors, nor the cold formality of her father. It was calm, knowing. 

She quickly bowed, remembering her etiquette. "I-I greet Y-Your Imperial Majesty." 

There was a soft hum from the throne. 

"A proper greeting. But I must admit, I'm rather hurt… You never came to visit me." 

Leia blinked, confused. 

She hesitated before replying. "I… didn't know I could." - 'or that I should?' went unsaid 

The Emperor's expression turned mockingly somber. 

"Oh?! You hurt your godfather with your words..." 

Her eyes widened. 

What? 

That couldn't be right. That wasn't right. 

But as she stood there, searching his face for deception, she found none—only quiet amusement. 

He was watching her, waiting to see how she would react. 

For the first time in her life, she didn't know what to say. 

He simply smiled again, reaching out to her—not with the Force, but his actual hand. 

Before she could even think to refuse, he lifted her effortlessly, settling her onto the seat before him. 

She felt small, surrounded by the towering throne, her tiny feet barely brushing against the floor. 

The chessboard between them rearranged itself, pieces floating into new positions as if guided by unseen hands. 

"Tell me, Leia." 

"Would you humor me with a game?" 

She looked down at the board, then back up at him. 

He was still smiling, but she could feel the weight of his presence pressing down upon her—a king watching over his kingdom. 

She swallowed. 

Then, after a moment, she reached forward—her small fingers brushing against a white pawn. 

And with careful consideration, she made the first move. 

A.N: I already miss combat/plots/scheeming chapters, but chapters like these are necessary too, I'll try my best ot pump them out quickly but i swear these are somehow much harder to write.