In the dimly lit chamber of the Jedi Temple, Lira's golden-flecked emerald eyes fluttered open, her long dark lashes brushing against her cheeks as consciousness returned. The familiar marble floors and towering archways of Coruscant's sacred sanctuary materialized around her, exactly where she had stood when Dr. Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts, had first opened the portal that whisked her away. The wizard's angular face bore his characteristic goatee, and the edges of his mouth curved upward in that deliberate way of his—measured and controlled, like everything else about the former neurosurgeon. His cloak of levitation shifted slightly in a nonexistent breeze, the deep red fabric rippling with ancient magic.

"So, how was my world?" he inquired, the question carrying layers of meaning. The geometric scars on his hands caught the light as he lowered them from their spellcasting position, the mystical mandalas that had surrounded them fading into whispers of golden light.

Lira's own smile bloomed across her face, her olive skin still flushed from the interdimensional journey. "Perfect, thanks," she answered, her voice carrying the weight of countless experiences compressed into what had felt like mere moments in her own dimension.

The Sorcerer Supreme's form began to shift, reality bending around him as he prepared to return to the Sanctum Sanctorum. "It's better you get back to your friends; they're worried," he stated matter-of-factly, his astral awareness already sensing the commotion several floors above. With graceful steps that seemed to barely touch the ground, he strode away, the edge of his cloak sweeping dramatically behind him before he vanished entirely.

Left alone, Lira faced the ancient spiraling staircase, its worn stone steps winding upward through the heart of the Temple. Each step carried centuries of history, polished smooth by countless Jedi who had ascended before her. The Force hummed around her, welcoming its child home.

When she reached the upper levels, she found the corridor in barely contained chaos. Obi-Wan Kenobi, his copper-colored hair disheveled and worry lines creasing his forehead, was in the midst of directing a squadron of clone troopers. His precise Coruscanti accent carried clear authority as he outlined search parameters, his hand gesturing toward various sectors of the Temple's sprawling complex.

"Master, what's wrong? Why are you searching for me? I was just in my room," Lira called out, her boots clicking against the floor as she approached the group. The sound of her voice had an immediate effect on Obi-Wan, who spun around so quickly that he lost his balance, nearly colliding with Anakin Skywalker. The younger Jedi had been deep in conversation with Captain Rex, whose distinctive blue-marked armor stood out among his brothers.

Both Jedi rushed toward her as Obi-Wan exclaimed, "Master Zelaya, you're back!" His usually composed demeanor cracked with relief, the Force around him brightening considerably.

Rex's weather-beaten face split into a broad grin. The fluorescent lights gleamed off his blonde crew cut as he watched the reunion unfold. Lira's heart swelled with affection for her found family, and she didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around both Obi-Wan and Anakin, feeling their familiar presences in the Force—Obi-Wan's steady like a mountain stream, Anakin's powerful like a supernova.

"Yes," she confirmed, holding them close, feeling the rough texture of their Jedi robes against her cheeks and breathing in the familiar scent of lightsaber oil and Temple incense that clung to their clothes. "And I'm here to stay." Her words carried the weight of a promise, settling into the Force like a stone dropping into still water, creating ripples that would echo far into their shared future.

The intimate atmosphere wrapped around them like a cocoon as Anakin's breath ghosted across Lira's skin. His lips, warm and slightly chapped from countless hours of training, pressed tenderly against the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. The unexpected contact sent a shiver down her spine, causing her to let out a high-pitched squeal that echoed off the Temple's vaulted ceilings. Her body instinctively squirmed in their embrace, her fingers clutching tighter at the rough fabric of their robes.

Anakin's voice, when he spoke, was barely above a whisper—a low, honeyed murmur meant only for her ears. His words carried the lingering traces of fear he'd experienced during her absence, each syllable weighted with emotion. "Never worry me like that again, you hear me, my love?" The endearment rolled off his tongue naturally, his Outer Rim accent making the words sound even more intimate. His mechanical hand pressed gently against the small of her back, the temperature slightly cooler than his flesh one, while his natural fingers tangled themselves in the loose strands of hair that had escaped her traditional Jedi braid.

The Force swirled around them, warm and golden, reflecting Anakin's relief and deep affection, though carefully contained to avoid drawing attention from the nearby clone troopers and fellow Jedi. His force signature, usually a turbulent storm of passion and power, had settled into something softer, like the gentle heat of a desert sunset.

The Temple's artificial lighting caught the golden threads woven through Lira's Jedi robes as she lifted her hand to muss Anakin's already unruly brown curls, her fingers playfully destroying what little order remained in his hair. His mock protest died on his lips as she drew back just enough to take in their faces—Anakin's intense blue eyes still shadowed with lingering concern, Obi-Wan's copper beard failing to hide his relieved smile, and Rex's weathered features softening with affection.

"I promise, my loves," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of a royal decree. She leaned forward, pressing her lips first to Anakin's cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath, then to Obi-Wan's beard-roughened skin, and finally to Rex's scarred cheek. The captain's usually stern face flushed slightly at the gesture, earning a few good-natured chuckles from his brothers.

The walk to her office became an impromptu parade as several clone guards—Thorn, Stone, and Thire among them—fell into step around her, their red-marked armor gleaming under the hallway lights. Their protective formation spoke of both duty and genuine care, boots clicking in perfect synchronization against the polished floor.

Commander Fox had been stationed outside her office door, his distinctive red-painted armor bearing the additional markings of his rank. The moment she appeared, he broke protocol, stepping forward to envelop her in an embrace that made his armor creak slightly. The usually stoic commander's voice was thick with emotion as he whispered, "You scared us, Your Majesty," his helmet tucked under one arm to reveal his concerned expression.

Lira's giggle echoed in the corridor, light and musical, as she reached up to press a gentle kiss to Fox's forehead, right above his furrowed brow. The gesture, both regal and intimate, spoke volumes about their relationship—a queen and her loyal protector, a Jedi and her trusted friend. "I was fine, dearest," she assured him, her hand resting briefly on his armored shoulder, feeling the slight tremor that ran through him as the tension finally left his body.

The heavy durasteel door slid shut with a soft pneumatic hiss, sealing Lira into the familiar sanctuary of her office-turned-living quarters. The space reflected her dual nature as both Jedi and ruler—traditional Temple furnishings mingled with subtle touches of luxury. Her bed, draped in sheets of impossibly soft Nabooian silk in deep purple, stood in stark contrast to the austere meditation cushions nearby.

She sank onto the mattress, her fingers working through the thick waves of her raven-black hair that cascaded down her back like a midnight waterfall. The motion was absent-minded, mechanical, as her thoughts drifted to the friends she'd left behind in that other dimension. Steve Rogers' understanding blue eyes and steadfast encouragement, Tony Stark's characteristic smirk hiding genuine affection as he told her to "go rule that far-far-away galaxy of yours, Your Worshipfulness." Each memory was a bittersweet pang in her chest, like stars twinkling just out of reach.

With a determined exhale, Lira straightened her spine, her royal posture returning automatically. The movement caused the intricate embroidery on her modified Jedi robes to catch the light, threads of gold and silver dancing among the traditional brown fabric. This was no time for melancholy reminiscence. Her place was here, where her particular blend of compassionate authority and diplomatic finesse could do the most good. Not charging into battle alongside Earth's mightiest heroes, however exciting that had been.

Her slender fingers, adorned with the simple rings of her office, smoothed over the fabric of her robes before reaching for her datapad. The screen illuminated her face with a soft blue glow as she began the meticulous task of reorganizing her schedule. Trade negotiations with the Commerce Guild, meetings with the Jedi Council, diplomatic functions with various planetary representatives—all needed to be carefully arranged to allow for at least a few hours of actual rest. The chrono on her wall ticked steadily onwards as she worked, its gentle rhythm a reminder that even in the vastness of space, time waited for no one, not even a Jedi Queen.