“That was terrifying!” Zilla gasped, her chest heaving as she reached the shadows of the bridge. Her sanctuary was a meager tent, cobbled together from the jagged, salt-crusted remains of a shipwreck’s canvas.

She collapsed onto the dirt, her eyes fixed on the black, swirling waters of the lake below. “I’ll never…” she whispered into the damp air, “I’ll never do that again.”

“Out here talking to yourself, Apprentice?”

The voice sliced through the sound of the wind—cold, familiar, and mocking. Zilla scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering against her ribs. Ventress stood there, draped in shadows, her presence as sharp as a blade.

“Uh… oh… what are you doing here?” Zilla stammered, backing toward the canvas walls of her home.

“Checking on a friend,” Ventress said, though her eyes remained predatory. “How are you holding up? Did the lightsaber work? Did the old man finally claw back his memories?”

Zilla’s breath hitched. The memory of the crackling energy and the look in his eyes flashed before her. “I don’t know… but… it was all just so scary…”

“Then it worked,” Ventress purred, a thin, cruel smile tugging at her lips. “If it hadn’t, nothing would have happened at all. Silence is the only true failure.”

Zilla felt a chill that had nothing to do with the storm. “What are you really doing here?” she demanded, her voice trembling but defiant. “I don’t want to talk to you. Leave.”

Ventress didn’t flinch. Instead, her gaze shifted past Zilla, locking onto a figure emerging from the mist. Lars was approaching, his silhouette heavy with purpose.

“There he comes,” Ventress hissed, her tone dripping with sudden malice. “Ta-ta, for now.”

In a blur of motion, she vanished into the dark, leaving Zilla alone to face whatever version of Lars had just returned from the void.