Matthew was present, as he often was when debates in the Senate chamber reached a fever pitch. He had taken to auditing such sessions, observing when tempers flared and rhetoric eclipsed reason. Today was no exception, with new faces and louder personalities filled the hall, and with them came a current of behavior ill-suited to the gravity of their charge.
Regardless, the truth was plain: the Alliance was in turmoil. The fall of the Core symbolized more than the loss of territory. It reflected the image of a chamber swollen with arrogance, where usurpers warmed their egos on the embers of calamity.
Rising from his place, Matthew's prismatic wings unfurled and fluffed behind him, a quiet ripple of motion that drew eyes before his voice did.
"Is this what the member-worlds have sent forth as their finest?" His tone carried clearly across the chamber, resonant, measured, impossible to mistake for anything but censure.
"This is war. And if those entrusted to lead cannot put aside petty squabbles long enough to grasp the larger picture, then know this, the enemy will. They will seize upon every crack, every division, and every wasted moment in this chamber. While you quarrel, innocents are slaughtered, homes are razed, families are shattered beyond repair.
The Alliance needs an alliance. For too long this chamber has indulged in words without weight, and debates without direction, and hollow gestures dressed up as policy. That needs to end now.
Our enemies do not wait. They do not argue in gilded halls, nor waste their hours with squabbles over pride and position. They plan, they move, they strike, and they strike where they know we are weakest. If this body cannot rise above its vanity, then you will hand them victory without a battle."
Matthew's wings shifted again, feathers catching the light as he stepped forward into the center of the chamber's gaze. His voice deepened, deliberate and unyielding filled with righteous indignation.
"The Jedi are not what this Senate is built upon. This chamber rests upon the voices of its people, upon the strength of its fleets, and upon the will of its soldiers. If your military leaders have failed, then cast judgment upon them. Hold them accountable. Replace weakness with those who will not flinch beneath the burden of command.
Do not heap the weight of your shortcomings upon the Jedi alone, for the Jedi were never the foundation of your Republic. They are allies, not your crutch. The Republic's spine is its admirals, its generals, its soldiers who march into the fire when you command it. If they have faltered, then it is this Senate's duty to restore order, to shape discipline, to forge strategy, to deliver victory.
You wish to know what must be done? Then hear it plain. War is not won by apologies nor inquiries. War is won by strength, by clarity of will, by unity of command, by decisive strikes that leave no chance for recovery. The Alliance commands the wealth, the fleets, and the soldiers of a hundred worlds. That power means nothing if it lies divided. It must be brought to bear with purpose.
Cut off the head, and the body dies. Hunt their leaders, scatter their councils, break their supply chains until their followers despair and disband. Do not let the serpent coil tighter around what remains of the Core- sever it before it strikes again. This is the art of war, and our enemies know it well. Why should we pretend otherwise?
Let this Senate stop playing at theater and instead move to take command. Mobilize your fleets. Send your armies. Strike where it hurts and strike until the enemy fears the very thought of raising arms against us again. If you are not prepared to do this, then you are not fit to sit in those seats nor bear the name of senator."
Matthew let the silence hang a moment, azure fire burning in his eyes as his wings stretched to their full span.
"The Alliance must be more than a word. It must be a force. One people, with one will, with one mighty strike. Only then will the Core be safe. Only then will our homes, our children, and our future endure."
