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Tales of the Third Brother.

The command deck was quiet, save for the distant hiss of the ventilation systems and the rhythmic hum of the starship's core. Grand Admiral Thrawn and Moff Wilhuff Tarkin stood as their gazes drifted amongst the galaxy beyond the expansive window, their conversation private, low.

"A shame," Tarkin muttered, eyes fixed on the star-streaked void, "though not an unexpected one. The Grand Inquisitor has disappointed the Empire before."

Thrawn nodded slightly. "His fear exceeded his discipline. A fatal imbalance."

Tarkin hummed. "And now we are left without a blade sharp enough to keep the remnants of the Jedi buried. Lord Vader will not want to suffer failure again."

Thrawn’s gaze flicked toward Tarkin, crimson eyes narrowing just slightly. "Then perhaps it is time we looked to someone who does not fail."

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. "You speak of a replacement?"

“I do.”

There was a pause.

Tarkin’s voice was laced with skepticism. “I assume you're referring to one of the Inquisitors… perhaps the Fifth Sister? Or has the Ninth Brother finally learned how to follow orders without a trail of collateral?”

Thrawn offered the faintest trace of a smirk. “No. I speak of the Third Brother. Rona Resyk.”

Tarkin scoffed lightly, turning his head. “He’s reckless. Uncontrolled.. dangerous.”

“He is all of those things,” Thrawn said, “but only to those who stand in his way.”

Tarkin said nothing, clearly unconvinced.

So, Thrawn stepped forward, his tone shifting—quieter now, more deliberate. “There was once when the Third Brother had found a settlement of surviving Jedi. A hidden enclave. Well fortified. Isolated. Cloaked in the Force. It had gone undetected for nearly a decade.”

Tarkin’s eyes narrowed. “And what happened to them?”

“Only corpses were left in his wake. By the time command picked up the distress signal, there were only bodies to investigate. Dozens of them. Some cut down mid-meditation. Others cornered in the lower catacombs where they thought they could hide. None escaped.”

He let that sink in.

Tarkin turned away from the viewport, arms folded. “And he did this alone?”

“Entirely alone. Without backup. Without orders,” Thrawn said. “He tracked them through whispers in the Force. He broke their minds before their bodies. It was not a battle. It was a cleansing.”

Tarkin was quiet for a long moment.

“I’ve read the report,” he said at last. “It was... clinical. Almost too clinical to believe.”

Thrawn’s eyes gleamed. “He writes them himself. Every detail—every kill. He wants us to understand what he is capable of.”

Tarkin's lips thinned into a grim line. “You’re suggesting we put a feral hound in charge of the pack.”

“I’m suggesting we put a predator where one is needed.”

Another silence passed.

Then Tarkin nodded slowly. “Perhaps it is time I met this Third Brother for myself. If he’s as precise as you claim... Lord Vader may take interest.”

Thrawn turned back toward the stars. “He will not disappoint.”

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