The First Dawn

Imperial Center

"Commodore!? What are you doing?"

Men in black field tunic, armour and helms surrounded a lone man in black Imperial Officer's uniform. Armed with military grade weapons, they had stormed the separate ministries, a Ruling Council in session and the Intelligence offices. Communications were down in the Imperial City and none could get ahold of the highest offices of state. Martial law was already in effect and none questioned military transports going en masse towards these locations.

With unnatural precision, they moved from one objective to the next. Capturing or executing their targets. Some naturally escaped, but were hounded down and arrested by orders of Ysanne Isard. The Director of Imperial Intelligence herself was in her office of the Imperial Palace, facing down a group of similarly armed men, lead by the Intelligence agent, codenamed "The Commodore" himself.

"Evidence of a lapse in security of the Imperial capital was noticed. Military grade weapons or other such heavy industry was active until recently within the bowels of our lower city. Our agents found no evidence of who was running the operation or what they were making but the facility's size was enough to come to a conclusion."

Issuing orders from Isard's desk, the Commodore continued to direct operations throughout the Imperial City. Most of the ministries, all of the military and ninety percent of the vital points within the Palace was secured. He continued to work through the paperworks, before he passed a datapad to Isard, surrounded and seated in front of her own desk like some job applicant.

"Please sign these for me will you, Madame Director?"

Ysanne's face paled a few shades before returning to her emotionless composure. The woman was strong of heart, and the Commodore almost found it a pity she had to take the fall for this lapse.

"These are my...execution orders?"

"We will of course, keep you alive, Madame Director, but you will be received very kindly in my new ship...I believe it was originally dubbed the Executor."

One of the soldiers approached, he spoke with the same voice as the Commodore, and now, looking at all of them standing up, they were all of very similar size and build. Isard presumed the masked helm was not just for intimidation purposes.

"Director. We have reports that we have successfully captured General Evir Derricote. The research facility is undamaged."

"Excellent. Have the data sent to headquarters. Now, as I was saying, Madame Director. You will be relieved of your duties effective immediately. You will be afforded a state funeral and your name shall be remembered for all eternity unsullied. Such is the least I can do for your kind services to furthering our cause."

Taking back the forcibly signed documents, the Commodore waved a silent and defiant Isard away. A memo was written to all concerned of the new arrangements. As the First Dawn to enlighten a Galaxy that had for so long suffered under the oppressive darkness, this coup d'etat was referred as such. Thousands of black clad unknown militia poured forth as ministries were disbanded, the influential in politics seized and scrutinised. The purge that followed the First Dawn reddenned the skies for days to come.

---

A few days later

As the few survivors of the purges were assembled in a conference chamber in the Imperial Palace, the Commodore made his appearance. As always, followed by a small entourage, the man seated himself and looked to the half dozen or so men.

"Gentlemen, congratulations, I have reviewed your records and I am confident that you are worthy of witnessing a new age of the Galactic Empire. The Emperor is dead. There is no sense denying this. But the Council of Moffs refuse to convene to elect a new Emperor. They defy our calls as well as their own and fight amongst each other. This must not stand. In the name of the Emperor's Ruling Council, I hereby order an all out war against the Pretenders, Secessionists and Deserters. In addition, battle must be waged against the enboldened Rebellion. No more shall I tolerate personal interests to hinder the efficiency of the Imperial Warmachine. I hereby convene a Military Dictatorship. The Galaxy will be mobilised and the reserves shall be brought in.

Today shall mark the rebirth of the Empire. We shall prove to our descendants here and now, that the Empire outlived its founder."

Imperial Center

A week had passed, nothing changed. After the coup and the purges, everything went on as if nothing had ever happened. But quietly, there was a call out to all who were concerned. Those holding the rank of Moff or above. Admiral or above. Those in charge of sectors or above. Those whose voice was deemed suitable to serve. Everyone and anyone of any position of authority in the military and the civilian bureaucracy were commanded in the name of the Empire to convene at Imperial Center to convene a great council to determine who or what body shall rule the Empire in the Emperor's stead.

Such was the call worded that to deny this summons was in essence inviting further criticism and loss of a claim to the Imperial Throne. While the Commodore was confident the more powerul warlords would be safe to ignore such veiled threats, the majority of minor and lesser warlords would not be able to afford to ignore this summons. Success would also allow for the Imperial Center Oversector, Isard's little kingdom to fall into the hand of he who would be chosen or would successfully negotiate his way to power.

The throne room was packed full of senior officers. The lowest ranking officer was an Admiral, though naturally they all held a rank beyond their plaques indicated. Lord Admirals, High Admirals, Grand Admirals, High Warlords...the list went on and the more extravagant the titles became, the less likely it was received for merit.

Arnothian was there, in charge of a TIE Defender facility. Delurin, the self proclaimed Warlord of Wild Space. Ennix Devian, the hitman of the Emperor. Lon Donell, the Imperial turned Pirate. Iolan Gendarr, former second in command to the famous failure, Captain Needa. Tol Getelles, the ally of the Loyalist Empire and ruler of Antemeridian sector. Feelea, rival to Relans. Kraven, commander of a TIE Defender task force. Delak Krennel, the cyborg lord of the Ciutric Hegemony. Par Lankin, Moff of the Lambda Sector. Arndall Lot, an innovative Walker commander. Kentor Sarne, Warlord of the Kathol Sector. Saz Tyrson, a minor warlord. Leonia Tavira, one of the few female moffs of the Empire. Meres Ulcane, an unusual alien-regarding army officer. X1, the clone Sith Lord. Yzu, a warlord of little fame. Joak Drysso, the supporter of Isard. Galak Fyyar, a scientist officer of the navy. Gaen Drommel, commander of the Executor class Star Destroyer Guardian. To note but a few.

The Commodore appeared in a holographic image, standing next to the empty throne. If anyone was angered by this complete disregard for protocol, they did not voice it.

"Gentlemen. Welcome back to the heart of our Empire. As you know, I am the Commodore, successor to Ysanne Isard, and the current steward of this throne. Please follow my men to your respective transports. We shall discuss the matter in detail at a better secured location."

Some grumbling were heard but the soldiers who came in silenced their disrespect. They were shuttled through an underground network of lifts to an underground Imperial facility none of them knew existed. As they entered a large warehouse, they realised that this Imperial facility was a ship. They were in a hangar.

At the end of the hangar bay, was a raised dais. On the dais was a single throne that much resembled the Emperor's. On the throne itself was the Commodore. His dark hair, youthful features and black tunic offsetting the grayness and whiteness of the hangar bay. Crossing his legs, he looked down upon the gathered warlords.

"This day marks the greatest day of the Empire, reborn. You have been gathered here today to submit yourselves to the new Warlord of the Empire. Me. Or to be sentenced to death and your power base taken from you."

Half the warlords drew their weapons and started hailing their warships in orbit. It was a trap and they knew it. Unfortunately for them...their signals could not get through.

Some of them stepped forward to submit themselves to the Commodore. The greater majority of them, especially those who had any semblance of power, refused. A ring of soldiers, not stormtroopers but clad in black armour and helms, closed the ring around them. X1, the clone Sith, threw his lightsaber at the Commodore, beheading him outright. But the soldiers closed the ring, and before the cheers of congratulations died down, one of the soldiers flanking the Commodore took off his helmet and threw the decapitated corpse from the throne. Seating himself. The same face, the same smug features. The same person but in the armour of his troops, sat on the throne.

"I am immortal. We are immortal. So long as any one of us survives. We shall be the Commodore."

Several minutes later, a transmission on all Imperial frequencies were called. The dead warlords and their submissive colleagues who survived, declared the unanimous appointment of the Commodore as the Warlord of the Empire, steward of the Throne. The great majority of warships and territories belonging to the warlords capitulated. With their leaders gone, there was no longer anyone to rule these territories. A grand exodus began, hundreds of Star Destroyers, thousands of warships and nearly a dozen Star Dreadnaughts began to move towards the core. A grand armada to be redistributed on a defensive line along the Colonies and the Core worlds.

The first crack of dawn since the long two and a half years of night appeared over the Empire. The time to lure the Rebels into a trap had come.