The bite of the iron around Amanda’s wrists stung like frostfire. She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally reaching for the weight of her axe—the cold steel that was her only true companion. But here in the damp dark, she was stripped of her steel and her strength.

Ventress glided from the corner, her pale skin luminous in the gloom. Her voice was like honey poured over a razor blade.
“Oh, my precious Amanda,” she murmured, trailing a long, spindly finger down the girl’s jaw. “Why do you fight? You know that outside these walls, the world is nothing but a theater of betrayal.”

“I am not your object!” Amanda spat, though her voice trembled.

Ventress let out a dry, rattling laugh that echoed off the stones. “Little bird… I am the only one who tells you the truth. The others? They call themselves royalty, but they are monsters dressed in satin and gold.”

High above the dungeons, on the wind-swept ridges of the highlands, Ahsoka gasped for air. Anxiety sat like a lead weight in her chest, making every breath feel like swallowing broken glass. She stared up at the man in the primary colors.

“Fate?” she rasped. The name tasted foreign. “Why save me? In this world, you either die a victim or live long enough to become the executioner.”

The man in the red cape smiled, but his eyes remained disturbingly calm. Ahsoka backed away, her hand twitching for a weapon she no longer carried. She didn’t trust heroes. Not here. Especially not now.

In the deep woods of Summerland, Zilla collapsed into the mud. The wet earth was more honest than any person she had ever met. When she grabbed the hem of King Anakin’s white tunic, the entire royal procession went still.

“Is everything alright, Zilla?” Anakin asked. His voice was deep, warm, and radiating fatherly concern. He looked like the very definition of virtue—the Knight of Light. Queen Padmé stood beside him, radiant and blissfully unaware, while the twins, Luke and Leia, held hands like two flickering candles of innocence.

But as the forest boy kicked Zilla in the face, something shifted.

Anakin knelt. To the world, it looked like a gesture of comfort. But as he placed his hand on Zilla’s shoulder, his fingers dug into her flesh with crushing, inhuman strength. He turned his gaze toward the boy.

For a split second, the mask slipped. The King’s eyes, once a gentle blue, flared with a burning, sulfurous darkness. He loathed disorder. He loathed disrespect. Beneath his shimmering armor, Anakin carried secrets that could ash the entire kingdom—dreams he had strangled with his own hands to keep his crown.

“Careful, boy,” Anakin whispered, so low that only Zilla and the boy could hear. His voice was as cold as a fresh grave. “In my kingdom, I am the only one permitted to deal in pain.”

Zilla felt her blood boil. She looked up at the King, and knew that if she didn’t find Amanda and her axe soon, this “Summerland” would end in a suffocating chokehold of darkness.