The sky over the Realm of the Storm was a bruised purple, torn apart by jagged streaks of lightning that never seemed to strike the ground. Zilla stood amidst the swirling dust, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

She turned slowly. There, standing a few paces away, was the man she knew as Lars.

But the air around him had changed. The gentle, wandering soul she had met weeks ago was gone. In his place stood someone with a piercing, icy gaze and a posture of iron. He was no longer Lars; the moment his fingers had brushed the cold metal of the lightsaber, the floodgates of his past had burst open. He was Anakin Skywalker once more.

Zilla didn’t know that. To her, he was just a man who had brought her nothing but pain. Her hand dropped to the weapon at her belt, her fingers tightening around the hilt.

“What are you doing here?” she shouted, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear. “Are you following me?”

“Zilla…” he started, his voice deeper, carrying the weight of a thousand battles.

“I know where this is going!” she cut him off, her eyes flashing grimly. “If you are here for an assault, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. Now!”

“Zilla, listen to me!”

Ignoring him, she drew her weapon in one fluid motion, leveling it at his chest. The tip wavered slightly, but her gaze remained fixed. “You have hurt me enough! You don’t get to come any closer!”

Anakin’s brow furrowed. The confusion of his dual memories—the peaceful life of Lars and the violent destiny of Skywalker—clashed in his mind. He took a step forward, his jaw set.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” he shouted back, the roar of a distant thunderclap punctuating his words. “I’m not the villain here, Zilla—you are!”

The accusation hit her like a physical blow. She lowered the weapon an inch, her expression flickering from rage to genuine bewilderment. “What? How… how come you don’t know?”

Anakin let out a long, weary sigh. The intensity in his eyes softened into something like pity. “You never talk about your feelings,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “How are we supposed to know what you feel if you keep it all locked away?”

Zilla looked away, her gaze drifting toward the dark horizon where the shadows of the past seemed to linger. A bitter smile touched her lips.

“I shared them with Ventress,” she whispered, the name hanging in the air like a curse. “She’d understand.”

Anakin froze. The name of the Sith assassin sent a jolt of shock through him. “Ventress?!”

But Zilla didn’t wait for his reaction. She didn’t want to see the judgment or the horror in his eyes.

“Goodbye… Lars,” she choked out.

Before he could reach out, before he could explain that Lars was gone and Anakin had returned, she bolted. She vanished into the swirling mist of the storm, leaving him standing alone in the gray light.

Anakin stood there for a long time, watching the spot where she had disappeared. He shook his head slowly, a heavy sense of dread settling in his chest.

“No…” he whispered to the wind. “Not her.”