The Magister’s pod did not open as it approached the point of address.
Instead, the chamber lights dimmed by a fractional degree as a familiar blue shimmer resolved itself above the dais. The hologram was crisp, unusually so, projected not from the Senate’s own systems but routed directly from a private vessel in high orbit. Ravion Corvalis stood framed by the clean, angular interior of his ship’s office chamber, hands folded behind his back, posture in an immaculate stance of prestige.
He inclined his head once. Respectful and deliberate to the chamber.
“Madame Chancellor. Esteemed Senators.”
His voice carried evenly across the hall, neither raised nor diminished by distance.
“Before anything else is said, let us acknowledge what has been lost.”
A brief pause. Not for an effect, but for weight to settle on all those in the room.
“Senator Monaray Dod was a true servant of this Republic. His death is a tragedy that warrants our collective grief, and more importantly, our collective resolve. I extend my condolences to his family, his staff, and to the people of Toshara; the world he represented.”
Only then did Ravion’s gaze lift fully, scanning the chamber, the accusation still hanging in the air, unanswered but not ignored.
“Grief, however, must never become a weapon. Nor should fear be allowed to masquerade as decisiveness.”
There was an edge in his tone for those truly listening. It wasn’t defensive by any stretch of the word. It almost felt like a calm offensive.
“I have heard calls for resignation. I have heard demands for immediate judgment, all of which I respect and understand. They have been heard. However let me be very clear. This Senate does not honour the fallen by tearing itself apart in haste.”
He shifted slightly, holographic light rippling across the gold filigree of his robes.
“Concerns regarding Senate security are legitimate. We have had them since before my office, and it was one of the corner stones on which the Magistration was built. They deserve scrutiny, not spectacle. Process, not panic.”
Ravion folded his hands before him now, a subtle shift into formality.
“To that end, I formally support the establishment of an independent Senate Security Review Commission. One composed of cross sector senatorial representation and external security experts, empowered to investigate fully, transparently, and without any form of political interference.”
A soft murmur went through the senate chamber. Most would not have expected this.
“However, independence must be more than a word.”
His gaze sharpened.
“To ensure absolute neutrality, I am enacting upon my position of Magister to formally refer this act of terrorism to The Jedi Order for corroboration. As an institution bound not to political ambition, but to truth, the Jedi stand uniquely positioned to act as a genuine third party oversight body. The Jedi Council will allocated a representative to be assigned as Senatorial Liaison to my office and in extension the senate.”
The chamber was given a moment to absorb that.
“Their role will be one of judgment, enforcement, and of verification. Ensuring that facts presented to this Senate are complete, unaltered, and free from partisan distortion.”
Ravion inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the weight of the demand.
“I and my office will cooperate fully with both the commission and the Order. I have nothing to conceal.”
The implication settled quietly.
“This Republic has endured because it does not abandon its principles at the first sign of crisis. We do not preserve stability by offering heads to the mob. We preserve it by standing firm in law, unity, and reason.”
“There are forces beyond this chamber who would celebrate our division. Criminal syndicates. Extremists. Those who profit from chaos. Let us not do their work for them.”
His voice remained steady. Immoveable.
“I will not allow fear to fracture this Senate. I will not allow ambition to eclipse responsibility. And I will not allow the death of a colleague to be exploited as a political accelerant.”
A final pause.
“Let us act with clarity. Let us act with dignity. And let us ensure that when justice is delivered, it is done so with precision, not haste.”
Ravion inclined his head once more.
– – — – –
The hologram collapsed into nothingness.
For a moment, the command chamber of Ravion Corvalis’ personal vessel was silent save for the low hum of systems and the distant glow of hyperspace lines sliding past the viewport.
Ravion did not move at once. He remained where he stood, hands still folded behind his back, gaze lingering where the Senate chamber had been only seconds before. Then, without visible reaction, he turned.
Kayrce was already there.
The aide stood at his side with characteristic stillness, red eyes unreadable, a slim datapad cradled against one forearm while several additional files hovered in a precise hololine formation beside him. He said nothing. He did not comment on the address, the accusations, or the political shockwaves now rippling through the Republic.
Instead, he simply extended the datapad.
“Updated projections,” Kayrce said calmly.
“Security realignment drafts. Economic response models. And the preliminary vote count revisions.”
Ravion accepted the device without pause, his attention shifting seamlessly from Senate crisis to cascading figures and text. His thumb moved across the surface, skimming, annotating, approving. To any observer, it might have appeared that the death of a senator, the threat to his office, and the scrutiny of the Jedi Order were little more than an interruption to an already full schedule.
“Prepare the next transmission window,” Ravion said at last.
“And notify our contacts that the timetable remains unchanged.”
Kayrce inclined his head.
“Of course, Magister.”
Ravion turned back toward the viewport, watching the open space of Naboo fold endlessly into the blue of hyperspace ahead.
Behind him, the Republic reeled.
Ahead of him, the work continued.