**Chapter 371: Fractured Loyalties**
**Padmé Amidala's POV**
It was supposed to be a good day.
Padmé Amidala stood on the grand balcony of her senatorial apartment, the endless cityscape of Coruscant stretching out beneath her like a jeweled tapestry under the midday sun. For the first time in weeks, the Loyalist faction — those still clinging to the hope of negotiated peace — had seen their numbers swell. New senators from the Mid and Outer Rim had begun quietly approaching her, expressing interest in joining the push for talks with the Confederacy. For a brief, shining moment, Padmé had allowed herself to believe that reason might still prevail, that the war could be brought to an end before the galaxy tore itself apart completely.
Then the reports arrived.
She set the datapad down on the marble railing, the glowing screen still displaying the latest intelligence summary. The "new allies" she had welcomed so warmly were not idealists. Many were corrupt — senators and planetary leaders who had quietly profited from the chaos, skimming credits from war contracts, turning a blind eye to smuggling routes, or even facilitating the very criminal networks Dagon Marek had been dismantling.
And Dagon…
In the two weeks since the Battle of Dentaal, the Mern-13 fleet under his command had conducted a ruthless campaign across multiple systems. Slavers, drug traffickers, pirate lords, and black-market syndicates had been systematically hunted down and destroyed. What began as targeted strikes against Zygerrian outposts had snowballed into a sweeping purge of the Outer Rim's underworld. The Republic had been forced to "clean house" — planetary governments scrambling to distance themselves from criminal elements, local militias suddenly cooperating with clone forces, and criminal empires collapsing overnight.
The backlash in the Core had been immediate and brutal.
Many previously neutral or moderate senators had swung hard toward the militarist faction. Even some of Padmé's longtime allies had begun to waver. Mon Mothma's friend from the Colonies, Senator Dasi Oran of Ghorman, had delivered a stinging speech in the Senate chamber just yesterday. Padmé still remembered every word, spoken with quiet, exhausted conviction:
"Ghorman is a single-product economy. We import almost everything we need to survive. The fear of a CIS blockade didn't have to go very long to remind us how vulnerable we are."
The words had landed like a hammer. Ghorman had joined the call for expanded military production and emergency powers. More systems were following.
Padmé leaned against the railing, staring out at the endless traffic lanes. How long had she been a senator? How many years had she spent fighting to keep the Republic intact, believing that dialogue, compromise, and moral authority would be enough? Now, only because of Dagon Marek, she was forced to confront what he had told her during that failed diplomatic mission on Randon, months ago:
"You are too focused on keeping the Senate intact while the rest of the Republic burns."
The memory stung.
She still held on to peace. Desperately. Stubbornly. But the ground beneath her feet was shifting faster than she could adapt.
The doors to her apartment slid open. Her chief of staff entered, looking grim.
"Senator, the afternoon session is about to begin. Senator Riyo Chuchi has already taken the floor in support of General Marek's recent actions. Senator Orn Free Taa has also announced he will vote in favor of any measure that grants Dagon broader authority to 'free his people from oppression.' The Ryloth delegation is fully behind him."
Padmé closed her eyes for a moment.
Riyo Chuchi — the young Pantoran senator — had become one of Dagon's most vocal supporters in recent weeks. Her passionate defense of his campaigns had surprised many. Orn Free Taa, the corpulent Twi'lek senator from Ryloth, had thrown his considerable influence behind Dagon after the general's forces helped evacuate millions of his people and later struck at the slavers who had preyed on Ryloth.
Both were now openly praising the man who had burned Zygerria to ash.
Padmé turned and walked back inside, her golden-brown robes whispering against the polished floor. She moved to the large holoprojector in the center of the room and activated the live feed from the Senate chamber.
Riyo Chuchi's clear, youthful voice filled the apartment.
"…and I say this without hesitation: General Dagon Marek has done what the Senate has failed to do for years. He has struck at the heart of the slave trade that has plagued the Outer Rim for millennia. Four hundred twenty-five thousand sentient beings — many of them Republic citizens — have been freed because one man refused to look away. If that makes him a 'Death Fleet' commander in the eyes of Count Dooku, then I wear that label with pride. The Republic must stand for more than mere survival. It must stand for justice."
Applause erupted from the militarist benches. Even some moderates clapped.
Orn Free Taa rose next, his booming voice carrying across the chamber.
"My people suffered under the boot of Wat Tambor and the shadow of Zygerrian slavers. General Marek not only helped evacuate millions of Twi'leks but has now shattered the very empire that sought to enslave us. I vote in full support of any measure that grants him the authority needed to finish what he has started. Ryloth stands with him!"
More applause. The militarist faction was growing bolder by the hour.
Padmé muted the feed and sank into a chair, pressing her fingers to her temples.
She could feel the Senate fracturing along new lines. The peace faction she had worked so hard to rebuild was being hollowed out from within by opportunists and frightened worlds. The Core, once the bastion of moderation, was swinging toward total war. Even Mon Mothma — her closest ally in the fight for restraint — had grown quieter, her own planet's vulnerabilities weighing heavily on her.
And Dagon…
Dagon had become something larger than a general. He was a symbol now. To some, a hero who refused to compromise with evil. To others, a dangerous warlord operating with near-impunity. To Palpatine, she suspected, he was both useful and increasingly unpredictable.
Padmé stared at the frozen image of the Senate chamber on the holoprojector.
How long could she keep holding on to the ideal of peace when the Republic itself seemed determined to burn?
She rose slowly, smoothing her robes with practiced grace. The afternoon session awaited. She would speak for dialogue. She would argue for restraint. She would remind them that every action had consequences, that vengeance was not justice, that destroying planets did not bring lasting peace.
But deep down, a small, honest part of her — the part that had once been Queen of Naboo — wondered if Dagon was right.
Perhaps the Senate *had* spent too long trying to keep itself intact while the rest of the Republic burned.
Padmé Amidala stepped toward the door, chin high, resolve steeling itself once more.
She would fight for peace.
Even if the galaxy seemed determined to choose war.