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Summary
Somewhere between 21BBY and 19BBY:
It was her favourite moment, dawn, with the changing hues of the horizon heralding a new day, and new possibilities. The soothing light of the distant Coruscant Prime sun gradually bathed the room: it was the privilege of residing in the upper levels of the ecumenopolis, where even natural light had its cost.
Allya glanced across the desk; Palpatine had also stopped working for a moment, allowing the light to caress his face as he closed his eyes. These moments were precious. Everything seemed peaceful. In these moments, the young Dathomirian could almost forget the incessant noise of the voice swirling in her thoughts.
The voice. Always present, always insistent. Yet, at this precise moment, the voice was silent. Allya could almost taste an inner peace, an ephemeral tranquillity that gave way to wonder at the spectacle of the sunrise. The rays illuminated the imposing structures of the ecumenopolis, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced on the walls of the room.