Night has fallen across the galactic capital. The skyline burns with a billion lights—speeder lanes weaving between spires, advertising holos flickering over abandoned military checkpoints. The celebrations have mostly died down. What remains is the quiet hum of a city catching its breath.

In the private gardens of the Senate Rotunda, away from the prying eyes of protocol droids and diplomatic aides, a figure stands motionless at the edge of a reflective pool. The water ripples gently, disturbed by the breeze, catching the distorted glow of distant stars.

He doesn't turn when footsteps approach on the polished stone path. He already knows who it is.