**Chapter 720: Sisters of the Mountain**
**Scene 1: Singing Mountain Clan Territory**
The air on Dathomir smelled of ozone, scorched earth, and purified water. The once-oppressive green haze that had blanketed the planet had lifted, replaced by a cleaner, brighter sky. Dagon Marek walked through the smoking remains of what had once been Nightsister territory, his Wrath Shield armor still warm from Heat mode. The arm-mounted flame cannons had retracted, but the weapon systems remained on standby.
The Singing Mountain Clan had always been different from the Nightsisters — more peaceful, more structured, yet no less formidable in their own way. A matriarchal society where political authority, ritual leadership, and martial power rested with the women, especially the spellcasters. They followed Allya's Book of Law, maintained strict ethical codes, and offered sanctuary to those who proved worthy. Their warriors rode rancors and wielded both blasters and ancient magick, while men and children lived under their protection in subordinate but respected roles.
As Dagon approached the mountain path leading to their village, the surviving witches watched him warily from elevated positions. Rancors shifted uneasily behind barricades. No one attacked. The blue glow now flowing through the planet's sacred waters had made his intentions clear.
At the center of the village stood Augwynne Djo, Clan Mother of the Singing Mountain Clan. She was striking — tall, graceful, with sharp features, flowing dark hair, and an aura of quiet power. *Man, she was hot. Like smoking. A perfect ten.* The thought flashed through Dagon's mind unbidden, pulled from some old Earth memory of beautiful warrior women recorded across history.
Augwynne's cheeks flushed faintly. She tilted her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.
"Um… sorry about this," she said, voice smooth and resonant, "but I could hear your thoughts."
Dagon froze, grateful the durasteel mask hid his embarrassment. "Uh… is there any place private we can talk?"
Augwynne gestured gracefully toward a large, intricately carved hut at the center of the village. "Follow me, Dragon of the Republic."
**Scene 2: Clan Mother's Hut**
The interior of the hut was surprisingly comfortable — woven rugs, glowing crystals, and shelves lined with ancient tomes and ritual artifacts. Augwynne motioned for Dagon to sit on a low bench while she poured two cups of herbal tea from a steaming pot.
"Nice hut," Dagon muttered, trying to regain composure. "As far as huts go, I think. I'm sorry about calling you… smoking. It's just— wow. Look, I shouldn't be thinking this. I have a soul bond. I'm married — well, bonded — to several women already. They're recovering back on Coruscant. This war… everything is complicated."
Augwynne sat across from him, her presence calm and centered. "Easy. Calm down. While I understand your situation, you still have literal no experience with females — or at least normal females — who can hear your thoughts so clearly."
Dagon exhaled, the mask making the sound metallic. "Right. As you've probably sensed… the Nightsisters are no more. The Nightbrothers as well. Any chance of ancient Sith lords using this world as a base to attack the galaxy has been eliminated."
Augwynne nodded slowly. "Yes. The purification you unleashed across the planet… it was similar to what happened on Felucia, wasn't it?"
Dagon's masked gaze sharpened. "Are you familiar with the Dryad?"
Augwynne smiled gently. "Do not be alarmed. The Dryad is one of our goddesses here. Her influence flows through the waters and the life of Dathomir. What you did today… it was not destruction alone. You allowed balance to return. The green waters turned blue. The dark side's grip has loosened. We can worship openly now without fear of corruption."
Dagon leaned back, processing her words. The Force worked in strange ways. Even his ruthless campaign of purification had threads of creation woven into it.
**Scene 3: The Weight of Vision**
Augwynne studied him for a long moment, her dark eyes piercing. "What do you plan to do now?"
"There is still a war for me," Dagon replied. "Umbara. Then the defense of the Core against *Spear of Light*. The Confederacy grows stronger with Hapes at their side. I cannot rest."
"Not that," Augwynne said softly. "I speak of your deeper path. The vision the Force showed you — the one of girls dying in a field of flowers — it was revealed to you nearly a year ago, yes? That future has been altered. Your Force bond will continue to grow. More will be drawn to you. The threads are already forming."
Dagon slammed a gloved fist against his thigh, the Wrath Shield plates clinking. "Why me? What is so special that I get this much love and attention from women who actually have futures? The Force's cosmic joke is to try and kill me brutally, make the girls see and feel my pain, then force us to love just to start the cycle again. For what?!"
His distorted voice cracked with raw frustration. The weight of Geonosis, the brain worms, the lightning that scarred his face, the constant wars — it all poured out.
Augwynne rose gracefully and moved closer. She placed a gentle hand on his masked cheek, as if she could see through the durasteel to the man beneath.
"You are still frustrated," she said kindly. "But remember what you told yourself: if you have power, you cannot hide while the world moves on without you. You chose to change the galaxy. You chose to save it. That choice carries a price — but also great reward. The women who stand with you do so because they see the light within the necessary monster."
She leaned in and pressed a soft, warm kiss against the cheek of his durasteel mask — a gesture of understanding, respect, and perhaps something more.
Dagon sat stunned as Augwynne stepped back, offering him a serene smile. "Go, Dragon. Your war awaits. But know that Dathomir will remember what you did here today. The Singing Mountain Clan owes you a debt."
She turned and walked back toward her people, her robes flowing behind her.
Dagon stood slowly and left the hut. As his dropship rose into the sky, he looked down at the transformed world. The once-green rivers now flowed brilliant blue, shimmering under the stars. Northern lights — vibrant curtains of azure and silver — danced across the sky, a phenomenon never seen before on Dathomir.
The planet was healing.
Dagon leaned back in his seat, touching the spot on his mask where Augwynne had kissed him. For the first time in weeks, a small, genuine weight lifted from his chest.
The war continued. *Spear of Light* loomed. More battles, more hard choices. But perhaps the Force wasn't simply playing a cruel joke. Perhaps it was forging something greater through him — scars, love, loss, and all.
"Back to the *Annihilator*," he ordered the pilot. "Set course for the Umbara fleet. We have a war to win."
As the massive 18-kilometer superweapon loomed ahead, Dagon allowed himself one final glance at the glowing planet below.
Even monsters needed moments of light.0