The Death Star project absorbed Imperial command focus.
It drew funds, fleet support, and most importantly—attention.
Which meant…
Smaller cells grew unchecked.
Cindar—formerly Aurex—became the shadow heart of a growing network of rebel allies.
Every new contact linked through encrypted Kora shards.
Each blueprint shared.
Each loss recorded.
But each victory?
Whispered.
Passed like fire from hand to hand.
Mira led external operations now.
Toren remained the face of the network, but Mira was its movement—silent, sharp, unrelenting.
She directed sabotage on fuel depots. Disrupted comm relays. Mapped out choke points around Mustafar and Corellia.
Tarn said, "We're bleeding them inch by inch."
She said, "Not enough."
Then she set her sights on a target even she had sworn never to touch:
A direct strike on a deep-core Imperial archive vault.
The assault team used old Clone War routes—abandoned tunnels and forgotten Republic codes.
They reached the vault's inner chamber with twenty-three fighters.
Only eleven returned.
But what they brought out—
Blueprints.
Vader's orders.
Cloning facilities.
Shadow war tactics.
And data on something called "Skywalker."
Toren stared at the files.
He saw a child born in secret.
He saw Padmé's name.
He saw Luke.
And Leia.
And something cold passed through him.
Mira entered behind him.
He turned to her and said:
"They're not just afraid of rebellion."
He showed her the name.
"They're afraid of legacy."