**Chapter 418**
**Terminus Orbital Dockyard**
Ashara Zavros moved through the bustling corridors of the Terminus orbital dockyard with purposeful strides, her dark robes whispering against the polished deck plates. The massive shipyard complex hummed with activity—welding arcs flashing in the distance, droids hauling heavy components, and the low rumble of engines being tested. Above them all loomed the imposing silhouette of Dagon's flagship, its hull still bearing the scars of the brutal engagement at Dentaal.
*Well, he still returns to his old quarters,* Ashara thought, recalling Nox's update. *This ship… Dagon modified it based on ancient Sith designs from that holocron Nox kept hidden on Malachor. After Dentaal it's been undergoing extensive repairs.*
She rounded a junction, nodding to a pair of saluting officers, but her mind remained fixed on the conversation ahead. The weight of recent events pressed on her—resurrections, fractured relationships, the girls' emotional storms. She needed to reach Dagon before he slipped away again.
"Another month, young Jedi," a deep voice rumbled behind her.
Ashara turned to see Commodore Ragnos approaching, his weathered face split by a knowing grin. The veteran officer carried himself with the easy authority of someone who had seen too many wars.
"Oh, I'm not worried. It's just that I was looking for Dagon," Ashara replied, offering a small smile.
"The General? He's in his quarters gathering the last of his stuff for the temporary transfer. You know, at Dentaal… when he created that Force bubble around the ship, I thought that was just a story the older folks used to joke about during the ancient wars. Now I think there's probably some truth to it."
"Yes," Ashara shrugged, keeping her tone light. "So many secrets."
Ragnos chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder before continuing on his way. Ashara exhaled slowly and headed toward the secure lift that would take her into the heart of the modified vessel. The corridors grew quieter here, the lighting dimmer, with faint Sith runes etched into bulkheads—subtle but unmistakable. The ship itself felt alive with dark side energy, ancient and hungry.
**Scene 2**
The door to Dagon's personal quarters hissed open at her approach. Ashara stepped inside and froze for a moment. Dagon stood at a central holotable, deactivating a Sith holocron. Its pyramidal form folded in on itself with a crimson flicker, not the one Nox guarded so jealously, but one of the many artifacts recovered from Malachor. Several other holocrons lay sorted on the table—some glowing with Jedi serenity, others pulsing with darker auras.
"What are you doing?" Ashara asked, concern threading through her voice.
Dagon glanced up, his movements calm and deliberate. "Just recording which ones work and which don't. I'm sending most of the Jedi holocrons to the Temple while leaving a few for Nox to help the girls train." He shrugged as if discussing routine inventory.
Ashara stepped closer, eyes scanning the array of ancient knowledge. "I think we need to talk."
"Can't," Dagon replied evenly, sealing a container. "I'm about to leave for Ryloth. By the way, did Nox talk to you yet?"
"About what?" Ashara asked, a flicker of unease rising.
"The ship. I readied a decent freighter for you guys and picked out some planets where no one will ever find you for hundreds of years. Peaceful. Isolated enough for you all to start a family."
"Wait—stop!" Ashara yelled, her voice echoing sharply off the reinforced walls.
Dagon paused, turning to face her fully. His expression remained composed, almost unnervingly so.
"We need to fix your family," Ashara said firmly, stepping into his space.
"What family?" Dagon countered. "The relationship is in the past and now I must see the future."
Ashara's heart clenched. "Wait—you resurrected me and Nox to be together. That at least proves you have feelings."
"So?" Dagon questioned, arching a brow.
"So you should at least try with your harem," Ashara pressed, gesturing emphatically.
"I did. You saw what happened. Relationships are not meant for soldiers," Dagon said calmly, turning back to his preparations.
"You are more than just a soldier," Ashara insisted. She moved around the table until she stood directly before him, looking up into his eyes. The red irises marked with three distinctive black lines stared back at her—piercing, otherworldly.
"What happened to you?" she asked, concern deepening. "You seem… more."
"Stronger, yes," Dagon admitted. "After the events on Malachor I unlocked greater potential in the dark side."
He set down the last holocron and met her gaze steadily. "From the time of my past life against Skynet, I wake up every day to an equation I wrote fifty years ago from which there's only one conclusion: I'm damned for what I do. My anger, my ego, my unwillingness to yield, my eagerness to fight—they've set me on a path from which there is no escape. I yearned to be a savior against injustice without contemplating the cost and by the time I looked down, there was no longer any ground beneath my feet."
The words hung heavy in the air. Ashara felt the raw power radiating from him, the darkness tempered by an iron will. It both awed and terrified her.
"But Dagon… the girls," she pleaded softly.
"These days will end, Ashara Zavros. The way they laugh. The way they push through a crowd. The sound of that voice telling you to stop, to go, to move. Telling you to die. It rings in the ear, doesn't it? But they'll think about us soon enough. Soon enough, they'll have something else to listen to."
His voice carried a quiet finality that sent a chill down her spine.
"At least come to the Finalizer," Ashara urged. "The girls deserve to tell you how they feel."
Dagon studied her for a long moment, the red-and-black eyes unreadable. Then he sighed, almost imperceptibly.
"I am only going because I guess this was a plan between you and Nox to repay a debt—for that feeling of guilt on your conscience. Well, let me help you. I made a promise. Nox might not remember since he was a holocron ghost, but I don't break promises. And if I have to, I would do it again."
Ashara searched his face, hoping for a crack in the armor, some lingering warmth beneath the layers of duty and darkness. The quarters felt smaller now, charged with unspoken history. Outside, the dockyard continued its symphony of repair and preparation, but inside this room time seemed suspended.
She remembered the man who had once laughed with the girls, who had patiently guided Stella through her shyness, steadied Kayla's overwhelming emotions, and matched Flare's poise with quiet respect. That man still existed somewhere behind the enhanced power and the self-imposed damnation he described. But the path ahead seemed narrower, darker.
Dagon sealed the final container and straightened. The transfer to the Finalizer loomed, along with whatever emotional reckoning awaited there. Ashara could only hope the girls' tears and confessions might reach him before he slipped away entirely into the future he kept referencing.
The hum of the ship's systems filled the silence between them—a reminder that time, like the war, waited for no one.