Chapter Text
The war was a lie.
The war, retroactively deemed the Clone war, beget neither winners nor losers. The Republic lost and so did the Separatists. The war was a lie.
The only true winner left standing at the end was the Emperor. The Sith had calculated the only possible path to victory; the illusion of control.
Let the Separatists believe they had an entire droid army to do their bidding and conquer the galaxy. Let the Republic believe they had the Jedi in their corner and an entire clone army to fight their righteous war and defeat the evil enemy. Let them fight each other and let them destroy each other. Black against white, good against evil; the two sides fought and killed and died, all too blind to the fact that they were mere puppets granted the illusion of control by a shadow master.
And in the end, none were left to oppose the Emperor who emerged from the ashes to stake his claim amid the ash and ruin. The Jedi were dead, the clone army enslaved and reduced to mindless and obedient soldiers no better than droids and all those opposed to the new order ruthlessly disposed off and silenced.
The self-proclaimed Emperor took his throne, confident in the decisiveness of his victory and in the defeat of his enemies. The Empire was born; powerful, absolute, invincible and heralded a new era of darkness for a galaxy far, far away.
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Or so the Emperor thought.
But in his arrogance, he had failed to consider a threat that could still overturn his power. A threat that had been of his own making, born of his own machinations.
He had created an army of clones, an army of men; men capable of independent thought and emotions. Men who were loyal and brave and virtuous. Men who were skilled and trained and bred to be soldiers.
It was precisely this mistake that would lead to his downfall.
And it all began with these words: Execute Order 66