"Well, this is just perfect." Ahsoka shook her head, arms crossed. "Our team's split, half of them are chasing a glowing lady who doesn't want to be saved, and we're—"
Thunder cracked across the sky like a gunshot.
All three of them looked up. The sky—which had been clear and unnaturally bright moments ago—now roiled with black clouds that moved wrong. Too fast. Too purposeful. As if the storm itself were alive and hunting.
"That wasn't there before," Obi-Wan observed, his voice tight.
"Storm's coming." T'Challa's enhanced senses picked up the pressure change, the sudden shift in air currents. "We need to move. Now."
They quickened their pace, careful despite the urgency. The ground on this planet had proven treacherous—solid one moment, crumbling the next. The last thing they needed was another rockslide.
After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, they reached the clearing where they'd left their ship.
Empty.
"The ship's gone," Ahsoka said flatly, staring at the vacant space.
"I can see that," T'Challa replied, his tactical mind already calculating.
Obi-Wan stepped into the clearing, examining the ground. "It was here. The landing gear left impressions in the soil. Someone moved it."
T'Challa's enhanced senses swept the area. Something felt different about this place now. The air tasted bitter, metallic. The atmosphere pressed down with malevolent weight.
His instincts—honed through years as both warrior and king—screamed warnings he couldn't quite articulate.
"Look." Ahsoka pointed at the vegetation surrounding the clearing.
They watched in horrified fascination as the plants withered. Not slowly, not naturally—rapidly, as if invisible hands were draining every drop of life from them. Green leaves blackened and curled. Flowers rotted on their stems. Grass crumbled to ash.
"Did you lose something?"
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, dark and mocking.
Three hands moved in perfect synchronization—Ahsoka igniting both her lightsabers in a brilliant cross of green light, T'Challa's mask materializing over his face as his suit deployed, Obi-Wan's hand flying to his weapon but not yet drawing it.
From the shadows between dying trees, a figure emerged.
Red eyes blazed from a pale face marked with crimson tattoos that flowed like tears down sharp cheekbones. More markings covered his scalp, visible through close-cropped dark hair. His outfit was form-fitting leather and cloth in blacks and deep reds, designed for movement, for violence.
The dark side radiated from him like heat from a furnace. Not the calculated cruelty of a Sith Lord, but something rawer. More primal. Like he was the dark side given form.
"You did not wait as instructed." His voice carried cold amusement. "My sister will be disappointed."
Obi-Wan kept his voice level despite every instinct screaming to run. "Who are you?"
"My sister told you to wait," the being repeated, circling them like a predator. "Yet here you are. Wandering. Disobeying."
T'Challa's claws extended with metallic snikts. "We were separated by a rockslide. Not exactly our choice."
"A rockslide." The creature's smile was sharp and humorless. "Yes. Such unfortunate timing."
Realization clicked in Obi-Wan's mind. "You caused it."
"We'd like our ship back," T'Challa said, his tone making it clear this wasn't a request.
The being moved closer to Obi-Wan with unnatural fluidity, ignoring the Black Panther's implied threat. His red eyes studied the Jedi Master with unsettling intensity before shifting to T'Challa.
"Fascinating," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper but somehow carrying perfectly. "You're not even of this galaxy. Yet you stand beside him." His gaze returned to Obi-Wan. "Tell me, Jedi—is he truly the Chosen One?"
Obi-Wan's eyes widened. He took an involuntary step back, his lightsaber igniting with a sharp snap-hiss. Beside him, Ahsoka activated her second blade, the green light casting eerie shadows across her blue face.
"What do you know of the Chosen One?" Obi-Wan demanded, his weapon steady despite his racing thoughts. How could this creature know about the prophecy?
"What must happen will happen," the being said, his smile widening. "Whether you accept it or not."
He waved his hand—a casual, dismissive gesture.
Both lightsabers died.
Not extinguished by a switch or Force technique, but simply stopped existing as sources of light and energy, their kyber crystals rendered inert by pure will.
Obi-Wan stared at his dead weapon in shock. In his decades as a Jedi, he'd never seen anything like it.
"Are you Sith?" he demanded, though he already knew the answer was more complicated.
The creature laughed—a harsh, grating sound without warmth. "Sith?" He seemed to genuinely savor the word. "Yes. I suppose that's close enough." His red eyes glittered with dark humor. "Though they are pale imitations of what true darkness can be."
Lightning forked across the sky, closer now. The storm was accelerating, moving toward them with predatory intent.
"The storms here are deadly," the being said, already turning away. "If you wish to survive until morning, I suggest you find shelter. Quickly."
Then he leaped.
Not Force-assisted—something else entirely. His body launched skyward impossibly fast. At the apex of his jump, lightning struck—and where a humanoid figure had been, a massive creature now soared.
Part bat, part gargoyle, all nightmare. Leathery wings spread wide, easily twenty feet across, carrying the transformed being into the storm clouds.
"That..." Obi-Wan stared after it, his mind struggling to process what he'd just witnessed. "That shouldn't be possible."
Lightning began striking the ground around them in rapid succession. Thunder crashed so loudly it was physically painful.
"There!" T'Challa pointed toward a rocky outcropping. "Cave entrance!"
They ran.
The storm descended with apocalyptic fury, turning the world into chaos of wind and water and electricity that seemed actively malicious. Lightning struck where they'd been standing moments before, leaving scorched earth and the smell of ozone.
They dove into the cave just as the full force of the storm hit.
Meanwhile, across the shifting landscapes of Mortis, Anakin, Peter, and Vision were having their own difficulties.
They'd lost the Daughter's trail completely. Peter had climbed to the highest peaks, using his webs and wall-crawling to reach impossible vantage points. Vision had extended his sensors to their maximum range. Anakin had reached out through the Force, seeking any trace of her distinctive energy signature.
Nothing.
Then the storm hit.
"Okay, seriously?" Peter clung to a rock face as wind tried to tear him loose. "What is it with this planet and sudden weather?"
"We need shelter!" Anakin shouted over the howling gale.
Vision spotted it first—a structure on a distant mountaintop, somehow untouched by the storm's fury. "There. A monastery."
They fought their way toward it, the storm seeming to actively oppose them. But Vision was right—as they approached the mountain, the wind lessened. The lightning struck everywhere except near the peak. It was as if an invisible dome protected the monastery.
The moment they crossed the threshold, everything changed.
Not dramatically—subtly. The quality of air shifted. The very nature of space felt different, as if they'd stepped into a pocket dimension that operated on different physical laws.
The monastery's interior was vast and spare. Stone floors polished smooth by centuries. Walls carved with symbols that predated any writing system Peter recognized. And in the center of the main chamber, perfectly still, sat a single figure.
"Whoa—" Peter stumbled backward, hands flying up. "Okay, something just—"
"I feel it too," Anakin said quietly, his hand instinctively moving toward his lightsaber.
Vision's entire body went rigid, the Mind Stone pulsing erratically. "This presence. It's... immense."
Peter's spider-sense hadn't just triggered—it was singing, a constant high-pitched awareness that filled his skull. Not danger, exactly. But significance. Like standing in front of something so fundamentally important that every cell in his body was taking notice.
They approached the center of the chamber carefully.
The figure sat in meditation, so still he might have been carved from stone. But as they drew closer, he moved—rising in one fluid motion despite his apparent age.
He was tall, his bearing regal despite the weight of countless years visible in his lined face. Long silver braids fell past his shoulders, adorned with small crystalline ornaments that chimed softly with his movements. His robes were grey and silver, trimmed in gold, ancient and perfectly maintained. When his eyes opened, they were a luminous silver-blue that seemed to contain galaxies.
"Welcome, travelers."
His voice echoed like the Daughter's had—coming from inside their minds as much as their ears.
"You were expecting us?" Vision asked quietly.
The old man's gaze moved across them with deliberate slowness. He studied Vision, his eyes lingering on the Mind Stone. Then Peter, his expression shifting to something approaching surprise. Finally Anakin, and his ancient face transformed into something unreadable.
"Only him," the old man said, nodding toward Anakin. "You two..." He looked at Vision and Peter again. "I did not foresee your arrival. Your presence here changes calculations made millennia ago." His eyes fixed on Vision. "The bearer of the Mind Stone." Then to Peter. "And the inheritor of the Web-Totem."
Peter's head tilted. "The... what now? Web-Totem? What does that mean?"
But Anakin stepped forward, his patience exhausted. "Why were you waiting for me? What is this place? Who are you people?"
"To learn the truth of who you are," the old man replied with infuriating calm. He rose to his full height—easily seven feet tall, his presence dominating the space. "To fulfill your destiny, you must first understand it."
"Stop with the cryptic mystic routine," Anakin snapped. "Just tell us what's going on."
"What should we call you?" Vision interjected, his diplomatic nature attempting to smooth over Anakin's aggression.
"I am the Father." The title carried weight that pressed down on them like physical force.
"Okay, so 'Daughter' makes more sense now," Peter muttered. "Though I'm guessing the creepy storm and dying plants means there's a 'Son' we need to worry about."
"This." Vision gestured to the Mind Stone, which now blazed with golden light bright enough to cast shadows. "You recognize it."
"I know what it is," the Father confirmed, his voice resonating through the chamber. "As I know what you are, Vision. And you, Peter Parker. Your presence here—beings not of this galaxy, carrying power that should not exist in this realm—has altered the flow of destiny itself. You are no longer what you were. This place changes all who enter it."
Outside, visible through narrow windows, the storm raged with unnatural fury.
"As you can see," the Father said, already moving toward an archway at the chamber's far end, "the weather here is unforgiving to those without shelter."
He paused, looking back at them with those ancient, knowing eyes.
"You are my guests tonight. Tomorrow, we discover what your presence here means for the fate of the galaxy—and perhaps the Force itself."
The three of them exchanged glances.
They had a feeling sleep would be impossible.
On Mortis, nothing was ever as it seemed.
And the real test was only beginning.