The capital stood intact beneath iron skies, its streets occupied but undamaged, its towers still standing. That, more than the invasion itself, unsettled those who had supported Duchess Satine's rule. There were no smoking ruins to rally around. No atrocities to point to.
Jack entered the Royal Hall without ceremony.
The chamber had been designed for diplomacy, with wide floors, open balconies, and banners meant to soften the eye. It felt wrong now, occupied by armored figures who did not care about appearances.
ODSTs secured the perimeter. Basilisk war droids loomed outside like patient gods.
At the center of the hall stood the throne of Mandalore.
Cassandra spoke softly in Jack's helmet.
"Residual communications traffic indicates several pacifist-aligned networks remain active. Probability of external appeals to the Republic: increasing."
Jack stopped at the base of the dais.
"That ends tonight," he said.
The throne was not claimed with words.
Jack stepped onto the platform and removed his helmet.
The chamber's cameras, those still functional, captured the moment. Not for ceremony. For the record.
Bright blue eyes.
Light blond hair cut short.
A face young enough to unsettle those who expected age to equal authority.
He sat down with no crown, just silence proclamation.
Cassandra initiated the broadcast.
"This is Mandalore," Jack said evenly. "The planet. Not the idea."
His voice carried across every remaining channel.
"The old government is dissolved. Its policies failed. Its protections were illusions. This transition is internal and complete."
A pause.
"Those who stand down will be left alone. Those who resist will be removed."
The transmission ended.
The Spartans moved within the hour.
Not in squads meant to intimidate. In pairs. In trios. Ghosts.
They targeted organizers, not crowds. Couriers, not protesters. The people who knew how to talk to Coruscant. The ones who still believed the Republic would intervene if asked loudly enough.
Supporters of Satine's pacifist regime vanished overnight, not publicly, not messily, but completely. Their networks collapsed with them. Messages died unsent. Appeals ended mid-sentence.
Cassandra tracked every operation.
"No external transmissions escaped containment," she reported. "The Republic remains unaware of internal developments."
"Good," Jack replied.
By morning, Mandalore had a single voice.
Not unanimous.
Not loved.
But uncontested.
Clan leaders were summoned not to argue, not to negotiate, but to witness reality.
Jack stood before them again, armored now, the throne behind him no longer symbolic but functional.
"You wanted peace," he said. "You got dependency."
No one interrupted.
"You dismantled your defenses and trusted the galaxy to be kind. It isn't."
Some looked away. Others stared at him with open resentment.
Jack didn't care.
"Mandalore will not ask the Republic for protection," he continued. "And it will not beg the Jedi for mercy."
He let that settle.
"This remains an internal matter," he said. "Because anyone who would make it external is already gone."
Silence followed.
Then Verd Fett bowed not deeply, not theatrically. Just enough.
"Mandalor," he said.
One by one, the others followed.
Jack did not smile.
Later, alone in the hall, Cassandra spoke again.
"Consolidation phase complete. Probability of Republic intervention: negligible."
Jack rested one armored hand on the arm of the throne.
"They'll notice eventually," he said.
"Yes."
"But by then," Jack continued, "it won't matter. Besides, it is considered an enteral problem by their law; they have no right to interfere with the matter."
Cassandra did not argue.
A few days later.
The first reports reached Coruscant and went nowhere.
That, more than anything else, defined the moment.
No alarms rang in the Senate rotunda. No emergency sessions were called. No Jedi task forces were mobilized. The information simply… stalled, caught in the vast machinery of law, precedent, and political convenience.
Mandalore was not a member of the Galactic Republic, which meant by statute, by treaty, by long-established frustration, it was not their problem.
Supreme Chancellor Valorum listened in silence as aides delivered the briefing.
"Communications from Mandalore remain restricted," one said. "Planetary leadership has… changed."
Valorum exhaled slowly. "Changed how?"
"Decisively," the aide replied. "There has been military movement, consolidation of power, and enforcement actions against internal opposition."
Valorum's fingers tightened around the edge of his desk.
"And our options?"
The aide hesitated, then spoke carefully.
"Legally? None. Mandalore is a sovereign, non-Republic system. No formal declaration of war. No request for aid. By law, this is an internal matter."
Valorum closed his eyes for a moment.
"So even if someone took the throne by force."
"It would still be their affair," the aide finished. "Intervention would constitute an act of aggression."
Silence filled the office.
"Prepare a statement," Valorum said at last. "Neutral language. Emphasize non-interference."
"Yes, Chancellor."
The door slid shut.
Valorum remained seated, staring at the star map projected faintly into the air.
Weakness didn't always look like surrender.
Sometimes it looked like legality.
At the Jedi Temple, the conclusion was the same, arrived at for very different reasons.
The High Council chamber was still, the hologram of Mandalore rotating slowly above the dais.
"Clear, the law is," Yoda said. "Act, we cannot."
Mace Windu's expression was grim. "The Republic cannot intervene. Neither can we without violating the very balance we are sworn to protect."
"The Mandalorians chose this path themselves," Ki-Adi-Mundi added. "Whether willingly or not."
Obi-Wan Kenobi shifted uneasily beside Qui-Gon Jinn.
"But if there's violence," Obi-Wan said, unable to stop himself, "if civilians are harmed."
"Then tragic, it is," Yoda replied gently. "But still not our jurisdiction."
Qui-Gon felt it again, that sensation of order layered over violence, discipline wrapped around conquest.
"There is intent behind this," he said quietly. "Purpose."
"Yes," Windu agreed. "Which makes it dangerous. But not actionable."
Adi Gallia inclined her head. "If the Republic acts here, it signals to every neutral system that sovereignty means nothing."
The Council fell silent.
They could feel something rising on Mandalore.
But feeling was not permission.
Elsewhere in Coruscant, the Senate floor was in chaos.
Queen Amidala of Naboo stood before the assembly, voice steady despite the storm around her.
"The Trade Federation has invaded my world," she said. "They have blockaded Naboo, occupied our cities, and violated every principle this Republic claims to uphold."
Murmurs spread through the chamber.
Senators argued the procedure. Committees demanded an investigation. The usual delay.
As Padmé's fists clenched at her sides.
"How many systems must suffer," she demanded, "before this body acts?"
The chamber erupted.
When the noise finally died down, she made her choice.
"I hereby call for a Vote of No Confidence in Chancellor Valorum's leadership."
The words struck like a seismic charge.
Valorum sat frozen.