**Chapter 596**
**Scene 1**
**Dagon POV**
**Grey Wolf, Lantilles Shipyards**
Nothing quite like returning to a place that felt like home after a long three-month campaign.
The Grey Wolf emerged from hyperspace into the familiar, bustling traffic around Lantilles. The shipyards gleamed under the system's sun — a sprawling network of drydocks, construction gantries, and repair bays that had grown significantly since I first claimed this sector. And there, waiting in perfect formation like silent gray sentinels, were the fifteen new Nebula-class Star Destroyers.
Sleek. Deadly. Ready.
I stood on the bridge with my arms crossed, studying them through the viewport. "They look good," I muttered. "Real good."
"Fifteen fresh hulls, General," Fleet Admiral Dittmar reported from beside me, pride clear in his voice. "Fully crewed and provisioned per your specifications. Sienar kept their word."
I nodded slowly. "Keep the Grey Wolf and Olympus Mons as my primary flagships. We'll integrate thirty Nebula-class into the main Darkstar fleet. The rest can rotate into sector defense or support campaigns only when needed."
Dittmar raised an eyebrow. "Thirty Nebulas showing up at Coruscant might send the wrong message, sir. The Senate already whispers about your growing power."
"Exactly why we won't bring all of them," I replied. "Bad optics. The last thing I need is Palpatine thinking I'm building my own private empire… even if that's exactly what I'm doing."
My mind turned to the bigger picture. I needed more officers — competent ones, not just clones. The clone troopers were excellent, loyal, and battle-hardened, but the expanding Mern 13 and 12th Sector (now also absorbing elements of the 11th and 14th) required experienced commanders and admirals who could think independently.
Thankfully, the training camps Dittmar's family helped establish in the Ash Worlds, Lothal sector, and several other Outer Rim systems continued producing a steady stream of recruits. Moff Terbon's administration in the 12th had proven reliable in funneling talent my way. If Tarkin's influence in the 18th sector bore fruit, we could expand even further.
"Transfer the Valiants to Tarkin for the 18th Sector," I ordered. "General Lee and Admiral Grace should have new officer candidates ready by the time we reach Coruscant. We'll evaluate them personally."
Dittmar saluted. "Understood, sir."
I allowed myself a small, tired smile as I looked out at the shipyards. Three months of near-constant warfare — quell, allied tion sector , the Hydian Way sweep, Felucia. Victories, yes. But the weight never really left my shoulders.
At least I was home. For now.
**Scene 2**
**Lianna, Sienar Orbital Shipyard Number 17**
**Raith Sienar POV**
Raith Sienar was nervous, and he hated it.
He stood on the observation deck of Shipyard 17, hands clasped behind his back, watching the modified Mon Calamari cruisers undergoing their final conversion work. The vessels looked almost peaceful hanging in space, but Raith's mind was anything but calm.
Why was he nervous? Dagon had visited many times. They were practically friends at this point. Was it because Dagon had pulled him out of his creative slump when the war started about 13 months ago by handing over the solar ionization reactor technology for free? No. Was it the exclusive fuel routes and resource worlds Dagon secured that kept Sienar independent and thriving? No. Was it the revolutionary fighter designs that made the TIE line dominant, or the wealth and rare materials that allowed Sienar-Jaemus Fleet Systems to eclipse the original company?
No. None of that.
It was the one thing Dagon had explicitly warned him about.
*Don't get involved with Kuat, Corellia, or any corporation I don't approve of. Spies. Senate entanglements. Ancient warships with rare materials and kyber are how we build the future. Keep it clean.*
And yet… here he was.
During Dagon's Felucia campaign, Jasmill Selanno and Lyra Blissex had approached him on behalf of Kuat. They wanted an alliance — shared designs, materials exchange, joint projects. It hadn't taken long for charm, opportunity, and genuine attraction to do their work. Now Jasmill and Raith were a couple.
He felt her hand slip into his. Jasmill stood beside him, elegant and composed as always.
"Relax," she murmured. "It will be fine."
Lyra Blissex's voice cut in from behind them, dry and amused. "Yep. He would definitely be mad. Well, I would be mad if this happened to me."
Raith turned to see her leaning against the railing, arms crossed. "I don't think so," Jasmill replied confidently. "I've met Dagon many times since the war began. He's always been kind, quiet, and respectful — even as a High Jedi General."
"Yeah, well," Lyra said, tapping a datapad. "Battle of the Superships. Clash of Immortals. The miracle healing on Naboo. And then there's this…"
She activated a recording. Dagon's voice, distorted by armor and battlefield static, roared across the speakers:
> "My soldiers rip and tear. Fly and hunt. No mercy."
The footage showed Dagon's jetpack-equipped Mandalorian-sith armored troopers carving through droid forces on Ryloth with brutal efficiency.
Lyra turned it off. "See? That's the man you're about to explain a secret alliance with Kuat to."
Raith swallowed. "It will be fine," he repeated, mostly to himself. "It will be fine."
Jasmill squeezed his hand tighter, but even she looked a little uncertain now as the Grey Wolf and its escort entered the system.