The air in the basement training room of the Autumn Side academy was thick with the scent of damp stone and ancient magic. Ahsoka stood at the center, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. Around her, heavy stone slabs hovered in a shaky orbit, held aloft by the invisible grip of the Force.

Through the silence, Anakin’s voice drifted like a distant echo. “Thou art part of a great legacy, Ahsoka. A legacy of love and hope… and the most powerful magic of all.”

Ahsoka’s eyes snapped open. The connection faltered. Slowly, she lowered her hands, guiding the stones back to the cold floor with a dull thud.

“But my part of that legacy is one of death,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “And destruction.”

Anakin stepped from the shadows, his expression somber. “Ahsoka… don’t say that. The past is a shadow, not a tether.”

“Hey! What’s going on?”

The heavy atmosphere shattered as Zilla strode into the room, her boots clicking sharply against the stone. “Look, Skyguy, if you’re done brooding with Ahsoka, you should watch me. I’ve finally gotten the hang of this! Soon, I’ll be—”

“Zilla, enough with the bragging,” Anakin interrupted, his voice weary. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a session?”

Zilla froze. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she looked from Anakin to Ahsoka. “I see. So you’re choosing her over me. Again.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Anakin said, his voice rising with emotion. “It’s just—”

“Oh, don’t bother to apologize, Master,” Zilla snapped, her jaw tightening. “I’ll be fine on my own. Ta-ta!”

She spun on her heel and marched out, leaving a stinging silence behind. Anakin turned back to Ahsoka, rubbing his temples. “I should never have taken two Padawans at once… what was I thinking?”

Ahsoka offered a small, bittersweet smile. “But you’re doing great. With a pure heart… you’re exactly the Master we need.”

“I really hope so, Snips.”

“Well,” Ahsoka sighed, looking at her hands. “It’s all up to you.”

Zilla stomped through the academy corridors, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles turned white. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the spark of lightning—a reflection of the storm brewing in her chest.

Suddenly, a shimmer of light appeared. Abigail, the little fairy, fluttered into view before expanding into her human-sized form. She folded her iridescent wings and looked at Zilla with concern.

“Zilla? What’s wrong, my dear?”

“I was happy when my sister came back,” Zilla spat, the words tasting like poison. “But now she’s stolen Anakin from me!”

“My dear, she hasn’t taken anything,” Abigail said gently. “She is the reason he returned to the light. You should reconsider your anger.”

A slow, chilling smile spread across Zilla’s face. She reached beneath her cloak and pulled out her fairy wand—a secret weapon Anakin knew nothing about.

“I’ve got an idea,” Zilla said, her voice dropping to an optimistic, yet eerie, purr.

“Oh no,” Abigail whispered. “I hope it isn’t something bad.”

“It’s perfect! I’m going to duplicate him. That way, we can both have him, and we’ll always be together!”

Abigail’s expression turned stern. “No. As your teacher, I must forbid it. Duplication spells are volatile. If the casting is unsteady, you won’t get a man—you’ll get a corruption. A shadow.”

Zilla just laughed, a sound like breaking glass. “Oh, don’t worry. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Do you? You’ve been a fairy for all of two days!”

“Ta-ta!” Zilla called out. With a snap of her wings, she took flight, disappearing into the heights of the academy, leaving a trail of shimmering, dangerous dust in her wake