"Go through the mirror Anakin."
In the dark corridors of the Force, an ancient prophecy whispers secrets of power and destruction. An enigmatic mirror holds the fate of the Chosen One, revealing that his path to bring balance is intertwined with the...
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Twists and Turns; In a veiled whisper, fate laughs at those who believe in their own understanding. In the folds of time, twists intertwine like serpents, changing the course of the journey when least expected. What seemed certain dissolves into shadows, and what was unknown emerges with the brilliance of a thousand suns. For the path is a tapestry of surprises, where every thread hides a secret, and every turn reveals a new enigma. In the end, it is the Force that decides, weaving its invisible threads, guiding each twist like a hidden maestro, leading mortals to question what is truth and what is merely the fleeting reflection of a distorted mirror.
...
Dathomir
In the heart of Dathomir, where the dense mist mingled with the distant echoes of creatures wandering through the darkness, Lilhya stood imposingly on the edge of a precipice. The winds blew fiercely, stirring her long black-red hair, which seemed to flow like dark flames around her face. Her eyes, a whirlpool of black and red, gazed at the horizon with a cold intensity. The moonlight revealed her features, highlighting her pale gray-white skin faintly tinged with a ghostly red. The light illuminated the small red freckles that softly dotted her face, as if they were ashes marking skin forged in the depths of darkness.
The witch, dressed in a black gown, adorned with golden chains around her waist symbolizing her elevated position among the Red Witches, stood still. The chains tinkled lightly in the wind, the only sound that filled the charged silence of Dathomir. Lilhya remained motionless, a statue of shadows and power, her hair dancing with the wind, delicately tousling the red strands as she awaited the presence approaching her.
Rhya walked firmly, her eyes drawn to the glistening accessory on the woman ahead, a symbol of her power and supremacy over the clan, cementing her position as Kalhyna, the supreme title given to the leader of the Red Witches of Dathomir.
Emerging from the darkness of the forest, Rhya's black-orange hair seemed to shimmer with its own light, becoming a beacon in the gloom that filled the place. She stopped a few steps behind her leader, bowing her head in respect before speaking.
"Everything is going as planned, supreme Kalhyna. Her mind is... in conflict." Rhya said, her voice low and laden with almost solemn reverence.
Lilhya remained silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on something beyond the horizon, as if she were watching the very fabric of the Force unfold before her. Her presence was like a living shadow, full of intentions and secrets.
"Conflict is necessary." Lilhya finally replied, her voice soft, blending with the wind. "Only through pain is true submission achieved."
Her red-stained lips curved into a cold smile. Rhya followed her gaze, knowing that behind that indifferent expression lay a mind crafting plans within plans, weaving a destiny few could comprehend. Even after so many years, the woman before her remained an enigma. Trying to see through her was futile... Lilhya was always at least two steps ahead of everyone.
