The air had been thick with the scent of old parchment and joy—a literal treasure trove of wisdom. But then the world fractured. A suffocating, emerald-black fog swept through the window, devouring the light and swallowing the forest whole.
“As long as we stay together, no curse can keep us apart!” Anakin’s voice was a roar against the wind, a desperate anchor. Zilla felt Ahsoka’s hand grip her shoulder, bruising and real.
Then, the anchor snapped.
The physical weight of them evaporated. Zilla reached out, her fingers grasping at nothing but cold mist.
“Ahsoka! Anakin!”
“Don’t worry, Zilla,” Ahsoka’s voice drifted back, but it sounded thin, echoing as if she were speaking from the bottom of a deep, rusted well. “We are right here. Always…”
The voice vanished. A surge of dark magic slammed into Zilla’s chest, turning her world to static and silence.
Zilla woke to the smell of asphalt and exhaust fumes.
She was lying in a driveway. The towering, ancient trees of the Autumn Forest were gone. In their place stood rows of cookie-cutter houses with manicured lawns and white picket fences. A small, neon-lit diner hummed in the distance.
The forest hadn’t been destroyed; it had been rewritten.
Panic clawed at her throat. She remembered Ventress’s icy parting words: “The curse will wipe away the forest, but your family will be safe.” Safe, perhaps, but at what cost? Were they trapped in this suburban prison, stripped of their memories?
She wiped a hot tear from her cheek, her jaw setting in a line of steel. “I will find you. I always do.”
Exhausted and disoriented, Zilla wandered into the heart of the town until she stumbled upon a dusty shop window. Gold’s Pawnbroker & Antiquities.
A bell chimed as she entered. Behind the counter stood a man whose eyes were far too sharp for his polite smile. He watched her as if he’d been waiting for her to arrive.
“I… I need help,” Zilla stammered. “I’m looking for my family. Ahsoka and Anakin.”
The man, Mr. Gold, didn’t look surprised. He pulled a heavy ledger from beneath the counter and ran a pale finger down a list of names. “There is no Ahsoka or Anakin in this town, dearie.”
Zilla’s heart plummeted. “They have to be here! Maybe… maybe the curse changed them. New names. New lives.” She lunged forward, grabbing the list. “Please, let me see.”
Gold’s smile widened, revealing nothing. “Of course. If you need further assistance, I am always… available.”
Zilla hurried back out into the sunlight, her eyes scanning the list with frantic intensity. She stopped, her breath catching.
Ahsla.
A small, sad smile touched her lips. “That’s something my sister would choose,” she whispered. But as her eyes moved to the name listed beside hers, she frowned. Lars. Why would Anakin ever be a ‘Lars’? It felt wrong, like a song played out of tune.
She followed the address on the paper to a blue house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she climbed the porch steps. She crossed her fingers, a silent prayer to a Force that felt a million miles away, and knocked.
The door swung open.
Zilla’s breath hitched. It was her. The same face, the same eyes. “Ahsoka!” she cried, the joy nearly knocking her off her feet.
The woman at the door didn’t move to hug her. Instead, she looked at Zilla with the cold, polite confusion of a stranger. “I’m sorry? My name is Ahsla.”
The joy in Zilla’s chest turned to lead. “Yes… right. Ahsla. But… don’t you recognize me? I’m your sister.”
Ahsla’s brow furrowed. She didn’t say no; she looked back into the house, her voice casual and distant. “Lars? Do I have a sister?”
A heavy footstep sounded from the hallway. A man appeared behind Ahsla, his face identical to Anakin’s, but his eyes were empty of the fire Zilla knew so well.
“Not that I know of,” he said flatly.
Zilla stood on the threshold, shivering in the warm afternoon sun. She had found them, but as they stared at her like a ghost they didn’t believe in, she realized the truth: finding them was the easy part. Bringing them home would be the real battle.
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