## **Chapter 248: A Moment Worth Keeping**
### **Scene I – Dittmar**
Fleet Admiral Dittmar leaned back slightly in his chair, observing the lively atmosphere around him with a mixture of curiosity and quiet reflection.
The restaurant sat atop one of the high-rise platforms of Lantilles, its transparisteel walls offering a breathtaking view of the endless cityscape below. Streams of traffic wove through the air like rivers of light, and far beyond, the stars shimmered faintly against the darkening sky.
Inside, however, the mood was far removed from war.
Laughter.
Conversation.
Warmth.
A celebration.
Dittmar folded his hands together on the table, his sharp eyes moving from one group to another. Officers, pilots, clones, and even a few Jedi mingled together in a way he had rarely seen before.
*Strange…*
"I thought Jedi didn't encourage attachments," he muttered quietly to himself.
Grace O'Connor, seated across from him, caught the remark and smirked.
"They don't," she said lightly. "At least… not officially."
Dittmar raised an eyebrow.
"And yet here we are."
She gestured around the room.
"Blame the General."
Dittmar let out a quiet breath, watching as a group of clones laughed loudly over something at the far table.
"A birthday celebration," he said. "For Commander Tano."
Grace nodded.
"Sixteen," she added. "Still a kid, if you ask me."
Dittmar's expression grew thoughtful.
"Sixteen… and already in a war."
He shook his head slightly.
"Noble families send their children to academies at thirteen," he continued. "I know that. And the Jedi train even younger."
His gaze drifted toward the center of the room.
"But I didn't see real combat until I was twenty. And even then… it was a pirate frigate. Small. Insignificant."
Grace studied him for a moment.
"And now?"
Dittmar allowed himself a faint, humorless smile.
"Now I command fleets capable of erasing entire worlds."
A pause.
"Funny how times change."
Grace leaned forward slightly.
"Or how war changes them."
Dittmar didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
---
### **Scene II – Dagon**
For a galaxy filled with countless worlds, cultures, and species…
The food was surprisingly predictable.
Dagon stood in the kitchen, sleeves slightly rolled, staring down at the ingredients spread before him.
"Chocolate… nougat… caramel… vanilla… milk…" he muttered, assembling them methodically. "And a few extras."
He paused.
"…Milky Way cake it is."
The kitchen staff had long since stepped aside, watching him with a mix of confusion and fascination.
To them, this was unusual.
A Jedi.
Cooking.
Creating.
Not ordering. Not commanding.
Just… making something.
Dagon worked with quiet precision, his movements efficient but oddly relaxed—far removed from the battlefield persona most of them knew.
A chef finally stepped closer, unable to hold back his curiosity.
"Sir… this is amazing," he said, eyes fixed on the forming dessert. "I didn't think Jedi could cook—let alone create something so… unique."
Dagon glanced at him briefly.
"Most don't," he replied simply.
The chef hesitated.
"Would you… mind if I took a copy of the recipe?" he asked. "Lantilles should know this taste."
Dagon shrugged.
"Go ahead."
Then, as if remembering—
"Just make sure the candles are ready. Fourteen—no, sixteen."
The chef nodded quickly.
"Of course, sir!"
As the final touches were completed, Dagon allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction.
*Back on Earth, this would probably be a copyright nightmare…*
He almost smirked.
*But here? Different galaxy. Different rules.*
---
Moments later, he stepped back into the main room.
The chatter faded instantly.
Every eye turned.
Dagon walked forward, holding the cake carefully at arm's length, sixteen makeshift candles flickering steadily atop it. A service droid followed behind him, carrying drinks, utensils, and a selection of snacks.
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
Recognition.
At the head of the table, Ahsoka Tano stared at him in complete disbelief.
Grace had already organized the seating, and a place had been left beside her.
Dagon approached calmly and set the cake down in front of his padawan.
Ahsoka blinked.
"…You made that?"
"Obviously," he replied.
Before she could respond, Lichtendal Cerri leaned forward with a grin.
"You have to make a wish," he said. "Then blow out the candles."
Ahsoka looked at the flames, then back at Dagon.
"Seriously?"
"Yes," Dagon said.
She hesitated.
Then smiled.
Closing her eyes briefly, she leaned forward—
—and blew out the candles.
The room erupted into applause.
"Congratulations, Ahsoka!" Sumeragi and Grace said together.
"Happy birthday!"
"Commander Tano, well done!"
"Sixteen already? That's dangerous."
Ahsoka laughed, clearly overwhelmed.
Dagon picked up a knife and handed it to her.
"All right," he said. "Go ahead. Cut the cake."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"Christen—pour it already."
The drinks were distributed quickly—small shot glasses filled with a pink liquid that looked deceptively harmless.
Lichtendal tilted his head, studying Dagon.
"Sir… may I ask something?"
Dagon raised an eyebrow.
"How do you know about Atoan traditions?" Lichtendal asked. "We have an almost identical ritual. Usually with a pie."
Dagon paused for half a second.
"…I must have heard about it somewhere."
Lichtendal narrowed his eyes slightly.
"…Convenient."
Dagon ignored that and raised his glass.
"To the birthday girl."
"To Ahsoka!" the room echoed.
They drank.
Ahsoka, however, crossed her arms.
"What about me?" she demanded.
Dagon blinked.
"It's a little early for you."
"That's not fair!" she shot back. "I'm sixteen!"
"We're ten," Blam said casually.
"Well, we're eleven," Lucky added, "but yeah… still too young."
Dagon frowned.
"Then why are you drinking?"
The clones sniffed their glasses—
—and immediately downed them.
A beat.
"Sir…" Blam said slowly. "My fingertips are tingling."
Dagon sighed.
"Well… there they go."
Ahsoka looked even more offended now.
"Oh, come on!"
Dagon hesitated.
Then sighed again.
"All right. Just this once."
He poured her a very small amount.
"In honor of the occasion."
Ahsoka picked up the glass, sniffed it—
—and sneezed.
The room chuckled.
She narrowed her eyes, gave a determined shake of her lekku—
—and drank it.
What followed was immediate.
She froze.
Her eyes widened dramatically.
Her expression shifted through at least three different shades.
Then—
She grabbed the nearest jug of juice and chugged it.
Didn't help.
She grabbed cake.
Also didn't help.
The room exploded into laughter.
Grace nearly fell out of her chair.
"Ugh! That's disgusting!" Ahsoka groaned. "How do you people drink that?!"
Dagon tried—and failed—to suppress a smirk.
"You'll understand in… several years."
Ahsoka glared at him—
Then started laughing too.
"Yeah… no thanks."
Grace leaned over, grinning.
"Don't worry. We've got better gifts."
Ahsoka perked up immediately.
"Now *that* sounds more like it."
---
### **Scene III – New Blood**
Later that evening, the atmosphere had settled into something calmer.
More focused.
More… official.
Dagon stood at the head of a smaller gathering, arms loosely folded as he addressed a group of officers.
"Gentlemen," one of them announced, gesturing toward him, "allow me to introduce General Dagon Marek, High Jedi General of the Twelfth Sector."
A few exchanged glances.
Curiosity.
Skepticism.
Interest.
"He's come for my soul," the man added dryly, earning a few quiet chuckles.
"And these," he continued, "are Rear Admiral Lustian Kalgen, Commander Hellman Gramb, Commander Ethan Clairmoor, Vice Admiral Solvan Kobayashi, Commander Ben Del-Dala, and Line Captain Arten Su."
Dagon looked over them carefully.
"And all these brave officers are sitting in reserve?" he said with a faint grin. "That doesn't seem right."
Clairmoor tilted his head.
"Do you know each other?" he asked, glancing between Dagon and Kalgen.
Kalgen gave a short nod.
"We've crossed paths," he said. "And I think I'm not lying when I say… he's the most normal Jedi you'll ever meet."
Dagon raised an eyebrow.
"That's… concerning."
A few chuckles broke out.
Kobayashi gestured for drinks.
"Nice to meet you, General," he said. "So—why were you looking for us? Rerouting officers isn't exactly standard procedure."
Dagon stepped forward slightly.
"Because I need command crews."
He tapped a control, and a hologram of a Resurgent-class battlecruiser appeared.
"We only had one operational ship at first," he continued. "Staffed mostly by experienced capital crews."
He glanced at them.
"The rest?"
A pause.
"Three-quarters non-clone officers. Overlooked. Unrecognized. Left behind."
That got their attention.
"And the remaining quarter," he added, "are young clone units. Untested."
Gramb crossed his arms.
"Yes."
Kobayashi leaned forward.
"And you want us to command it."
Dagon's expression sharpened slightly.
"I want people who are willing to take responsibility."
A brief silence.
Then—
"Well," Kalgen said, a faint smile forming, "you had my attention at 'big guns.'"
A few laughs followed.
Su nodded.
"I'm in."
Gramb exhaled.
"Can't be worse than sitting in reserve."
Clairmoor smirked.
"Speak for yourself."
Dagon allowed himself a small nod.
"Good."
He looked at each of them.
"Then let's get to work."
Outside, the city lights stretched endlessly.
Inside—
A new force was forming.