**Chapter 478**
**Whispers from the Pale**
**Dathomir – Nightsister Village**
Mother Talzin stood motionless atop the ancient stone altar, the mist of Dathomir curling around her like living smoke. Her skeletal fingers gripped the gnarled staff topped with a glowing orb of green magick. The air around her hummed with power — the raw, primal energy of her world.
She was lost in thought.
Count Dooku had asked for her help once again. He had done her a favor long ago, back when he was still a Jedi, and she had answered his call. But that was not what occupied her mind tonight.
About a month ago, the Force had stirred violently.
It had not been a gentle vision. It had struck her like a thunderclap, and the clan's shamans had heard the same message within the same hour. The Force — alive, intelligent, aware — had spoken clearly to those who knew how to listen.
> "A time of change will come, and the world will never be the same…
> The whole will split, never to become one again…
> The sleeping will awaken to speak again…
> The forgotten will rise to remind of itself…
> The union of two will gain the strength capable of victory."
Talzin had spent weeks in deep meditation, performing complex blood rituals and consulting the oldest magickal tomes of the clan. Slowly, a tentative understanding had formed in her mind.
This was no ordinary prophecy. It spoke of cataclysmic shifts across galaxies. Of ancient powers awakening. Of alliances that could reshape reality itself.
She was certain other forces — Jedi, Sith, perhaps even beings beyond their understanding — had also heard the call. To ignore it would be unforgivable.
But something troubled her deeply.
Asajj Ventress. Savage Opress — her own son. Sixteen elite Nightbrother warriors. Fifteen of her strongest Nightsisters. All had been sent to aid Dooku and his Master, Sidious, in their grand war.
They were all dead.
All except Selena.
And their souls… their souls could not return to Dathomir. They were trapped, twisted by hatred — a burning, personal hatred aimed at one man.
**Dagon Marek.**
That Jedi had killed them all. He had slaughtered her mutated monsters without mercy. Before she could create more, Old Daka — the ancient clan elder — had warned her.
"This is not our war, Mother Talzin," Daka had rasped, her voice like dry leaves scraping stone. "We are neutral. The Jedi and the Sith have their games. Dagon Marek defended himself. He has not pursued vengeance against us. We must remain neutral."
Talzin's grip tightened on her staff until the wood creaked.
Neutral.
The word tasted like ash in her mouth.
She had seen Dagon Marek in visions — a man cloaked in black armor, eyes burning with a red star, wielding power that felt both familiar and alien. He carried something ancient with him now. A dragon's wrath. A shield born of wrath and shadow.
And yet… he had not come for Dathomir.
Not yet.
Talzin turned away from the altar, her yellow eyes narrowing as she gazed toward the distant mountains where the Nightbrothers lived.
"Perhaps Daka is right," she whispered to the mist. "For now."
But the Force's message still echoed in her bones.
*A time of change will come…*
*The union of two will gain the strength capable of victory…*
Talzin smiled — a cold, calculating smile that promised pain to anyone who stood in her way.
She would watch. She would wait.
And when the time was right, Mother Talzin would ensure that Dagon Marek — and whoever stood with him — would learn exactly what it meant to awaken the wrath of Dathomir.