Kashyyyk will never die.

The Holonet crackled to life—static-laced, glitching, the battered face of a grizzled Jedi Master staring down the feed. Blood streaked his temple, a fresh bruise blooming across his jaw. Behind him, Kashyyyk burned—jungle canopies ablaze, smoke curling into a bruised sky. The distant thud-thud-thud of Houk artillery pounded like a war drum, shaking the frame in answer to the crusaders own.

Kei spoke. Gravel-voiced. Steady. Unbroken.

"This is the Kashyyyk resistance. Never say die.
While we breathe, no crusader will know peace.
Look to your hearts, to your pride, to your families.
Give them nothing. Not an inch. Not a whisper of mercy.
Let the jungle take them. As it always does for those who tred too deep.
Be strong. Now more than ever. When we call—be ready."

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The feed wavered, static crackling over the chaos. The invasion had come. His home burned. His Wookiee brothers cried out Kuhbee —so he answered. A flash of fire—an earthshaking explosion—shouts and chaos swallowing the final words. The screen flickered, static washing over the battlefield as the roar of war drowned it all out. Hopefully his wife and children saw it before the end, and they were safe and warm.

Badly outgunned. Cut off. His homeworld in flames—again.

Déjà vu twice over.

How long could they hold out?