**Chapter 827: Echoes of Change**
**Scene 1: Jedi Temple Training Hall – Obi-Wan POV**
Obi-Wan Kenobi moved with practiced grace across the training hall mat, his blue lightsaber humming steadily in his right hand. Opposite him, Anakin Skywalker wielded a red, non-corrupted lightsaber in his newly regenerated flesh-and-blood right hand and a blue blade in his left. The Chosen One's movements were aggressive, fluid, and filled with the raw power that had always defined him. His Padawan—now showing signs of unlocked potential after intensive training—watched from the sidelines with wide eyes.
"Come on, Master! Aren't you getting slower?" Anakin taunted, lunging forward with a spinning strike.
Obi-Wan parried smoothly, the clash of plasma sending sparks dancing across the floor. "You should talk, Chosen One. I am getting old. You try managing all these younglings while running half the Council sessions."
Another swing came in fast. Obi-Wan deflected it, stepping sideways with economical precision. The years had taught him patience, but Anakin's growth was undeniable. The boy—no, the man—had come a long way since those early days on Naboo.
"Boom! I win!" Anakin declared triumphantly as the tip of his blade tapped the sensor on Obi-Wan's shoulder pauldron. The training remote chimed, registering the hit.
Obi-Wan deactivated his saber with a sigh, a small smile tugging at his beard. "Well played. Your form has improved significantly. The dual-wielding suits you, though I still prefer the classic single blade for control."
Anakin powered down his weapons, wiping sweat from his brow. "It feels… right. Like I can finally use both sides of myself without holding back."
Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully. The new Jedi Order under Dagon had changed many things. Attachments were no longer forbidden. Training had grown more intense, more practical. And Anakin, once burdened by secrecy, now trained openly with his former Padawan watching.
"You've earned this strength," Obi-Wan said. "Just remember—power without wisdom is dangerous. Even for the Chosen One."
Anakin grinned, but there was a shadow behind it. The war had left marks on all of them.
**Scene 2: The Barracks – Changed Routines**
Clone Commander Blam noticed the changes almost immediately upon returning to Coruscant. The barracks buildings themselves looked the same—neat rows of identical gray structures stretching across the military district. But inside, everything felt different.
First, there were now not only clones here. Support staff moved through the halls: technicians, repairmen, doctors—hundreds of sentient beings of different races working alongside the clones. Even the cafeterias had female cooks and waitresses in light-brown uniforms, their presence adding a strange, almost domestic warmth to the once-sterile environment.
Second, the interior decor had undergone subtle but noticeable upgrades. Holo-paintings adorned the walls, depicting serene landscapes and heroic battles. Potted plants brought splashes of green to common areas. In the officers' mess hall, a large aquarium bubbled gently, filled with colorful fish and aquatic creatures swimming lazily. At first, Blam had wondered if they were part of the rations, but no—the fish and other creatures lived there purely for entertainment.
Similar innovations had reached the enlisted men's quarters. No aquariums or grand paintings, but the walls were no longer a cloying white-gray. Soft lighting and small decorative panels gave the spaces a less oppressive feel.
Blam sat down at a table in the main mess. Almost immediately, a waitress appeared.
"What do you wish, sir?"
"Lunch number three. And some buns, if possible."
"Two minutes, sir."
Commander Aich, current leader of the Thirteenth Legion, dropped into the seat beside him. He had previously commanded the Legion's Third Regiment.
"So, brother, how do you like all this?" Aich asked.
Blam shook his head slowly. "Ah… Not bad," the clone muttered. "Just, you know—this is all a bit strange. I can't wait to get back into the fight. There's such commotion out there." He nodded toward a nearby holoscreen where a Galactic Herald announcer read the latest war report. "All the action is either in Hutt space or the Outer Rim, and we're just chilling out here in the rear."
Several other clone commanders entered the dining room. Blam grinned at the sight of fresh faces.
"Don't you think they've started sending out completely green ones now?"
"Yeah. Mommy doesn't have time to bake them properly," Aich responded. "Thank the Force they're not ours. Reinforcements for the local garrisons. The more experienced ones were sent off to war, and the garrison is now made up of newcomers."
"And what can they do if something happens?"
"They might be able to do something. Maybe that's why they're keeping us here…"
The conversation flowed easily, but an undercurrent of restlessness ran through it. The clones had been built for war, and the relative quiet on Coruscant felt unnatural after years of constant fighting.
**Scene 3: Grand Master's Chambers – Strategic Vision**
Dagon Marek stood before a massive holographic display in his private quarters, the glow illuminating his scarred face. High Admiral Hannika's message floated prominently: "Conference on Aviation and Naval Issues."
This unassuming title concealed a large-scale event whose purpose was nothing less than determining the future of the Republic's air forces and navies—what they would look like in the next five to ten years, what ships and fighters would be needed, and how all this equipment would fight. The list of topics was extensive, and the number of participants promised to be enormous.
Dagon eagerly awaited the event. For the first time in nearly seventeen months of war, officers—staff and combat—would have a real voice. True, the decisions would remain null and void until the Chancellor endorsed them and the Senate reviewed them—but they could no longer be ignored. Thanks to such gatherings, the tactics and strategy of the Republic Navy had already begun to shift. Thanks to them, the military began dictating to designers what they truly needed. Thanks to these decisions, the Carrack-class battlecruisers, Nebula-B patrol ships, Ulan-class anti-aircraft frigates, and many others had been born. Even the Imperial-class Star Destroyers owed their existence to similar military input in another timeline.
Naturally, such an event could not fail to interest him: a wonderful opportunity to influence events, even if only slightly. He did not head there empty-handed. Dagon took several key officers with him: Admiral Rinaun, Claymoor, Lee Noriega, Shiranya, and Barvel. All had managed to relax at a local resort and even acquire a modest tan. Their delegation was modest compared to others—the total number of participants exceeded eight thousand.
Some witty journalist had quickly dubbed them the "Fleet Senate," and the name was generally accurate. Gathered in the room—a hastily converted barracks—were representatives of all twenty Sector Armies, including fifteen of the twenty Moffs. There were also General Staff officers, representatives of individual naval units, and delegations from naval academies and institutes. The organizers had created something reminiscent of a Roman or Greek amphitheater, only with tables added. A sort of institute auditorium, but on a much larger scale. In the center stood a large projector, and on every table were microphones and datapads. There was no overcrowding—sentient beings could easily move between rows and segments.
Why had such an event begun now? Dagon did not know. Perhaps the time had simply come. It had happened six months earlier than in the original timeline—that was good. Similar ideas had been floating around for a while, but only now had they been realized. While the current military situation was not ideal, it was no longer a disaster. With rare exceptions, the Republic had halted the CIS offensive on the Core Worlds. Raxus, Serenno, and Pammant shipyards had fallen. The Core was secured, minus a few CIS holdouts. The same applied to the Colonies, Mid Rim, and nearly three-quarters of the Outer Rim. Though the war had expanded into Hutt space, and news outlets now called it the Galactic War—or, in some circles, the "Demon of the Shield Crusade," referencing Dagon's actions in the first year, including the destruction of Zygerria.
One way or another, they now had time.
Naturally, no one planned to resolve important issues quickly. The conference had seven days allotted. Days, not mere hours—the meeting schedule was strict, from six in the morning until eleven at night every day. Looking ahead, three more days would ultimately be added. There was truly a lot of work. Much had been prepared in advance, and delegations arrived with drafts of proposals.
The easiest issue—the first on the agenda—was resolved on the first day before lunch. They prepared a letter of recommendation to the Chancellor, strongly advising him to completely abolish the Justice Corps. It had been created as an alternative to the Army and Navy, but now both existed. Having two structures partially duplicating each other was odd, expensive, and inconvenient.
What was most interesting was that no one doubted the Navy would remain after the war and would continue to develop, just like the Army. No one even imagined a repeat of the Ruusan Reformation.
Over the next three days, a fleet development concept was adopted: "The fleet must be large and specialized, but without unnecessary 'zoo.'" The proponents of specialization won by a narrow margin over the "generalists." In the early days of the Empire in the original timeline, the emphasis had shifted toward universal ships. But now the situation had changed. For example, the Tector—a full-fledged battleship based on the Imperial-class—had been designed simultaneously and released shortly before it, seeing action in the final months of the Clone Wars. But just a couple of years after the Reconquista of the Outer Rim, production of the Tector had been curtailed. The Imperators had no rivals because they were universal. However, now the advantage lay with the specialists—to which Dagon and his subordinates firmly belonged.
The next question, closely related to both the previous one and others, caused far more controversy.
With the Nebula and Resurgent Star Destroyer designs accelerated by eighty years, and the Devastation and Vector classes embodying everything the Imperial-class was without its flaws, the conference's direction might differ significantly from the original timeline.
Dagon leaned back in his chair, reviewing the proposals. The war was entering its decisive phase, and the decisions made here would shape the Republic's future for decades.
The Dragon's influence continued to spread.