The dimly lit corner of the Temple where Lira had found Strange was heavy with shadows, her labored breathing echoing off the ancient walls. Her usually immaculate appearance was disheveled—loose strands of black hair falling around her face, the ruby chancellor's robes wrinkled and slightly torn at the hem. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her olive skin, evidence of her desperate flight through the Temple's winding corridors.

Strange's expression darkened at her words, the Cloak of Levitation shifting restlessly around his shoulders. The geometric scars on his hands seemed more pronounced as he crossed his arms, studying her with those penetrating eyes. "Oh, why is that? Did they finally snap?" His words carried a weight of knowing, as if he'd been expecting this outcome.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she gathered her long hair, twisting it back into its formal bun. A few strands still escaped, framing her face like ink strokes against parchment. The desperation in her voice was raw when she pleaded, so unlike her usual controlled demeanor. Strange's sigh carried centuries of magical wisdom and weariness.

His warning about never returning made her facade crack further, her royal bearing slipping to reveal genuine distress. The lightning that crackled at her fingertips cast eerie blue shadows across her face, illuminating the darkness in her eyes. Her voice, when she snapped at Strange, carried an edge sharp enough to cut—gone was the diplomatic chancellor, replaced by something darker, more powerful. "I'm no Jedi," she declared, the lightning dancing between her fingers intensifying with each word. "I'm the Chancellor of this galaxy, and you'll do as I say."

The air grew heavy with tension, charged with both mystical and force energy as ruler and sorcerer faced each other in the shadowed corridor, each powerful in their own right, each bound by different laws of reality.

The orange sparks from Strange's spellcasting illuminated his concerned features one last time, the mystical light dancing across his furrowed brow and the silver at his temples. He took a small step backward, his cloak swirling around his ankles.

"Fine, but do be careful, Chancellor," he said, his voice carrying a mixture of resignation and worry. His hands began their intricate dance through the air, leaving trails of magical energy. "Beware, Chancellor. This will be hard to open again."

The portal's edges crackled and hissed, almost reluctant to form, as if the very fabric of space-time understood the gravity of this threshold. Its surface rippled like disturbed water, reflecting distorted images of Earth on the other side. The usual golden glow seemed somehow dimmer, more unstable, underscoring Strange's warning about its finality.

"I understand," Lira responded softly, her voice steady despite the circumstances. Her steps toward the portal were measured, each one carrying her further from her responsibilities, her power, her kingdom. The ruby chancellor's robes caught the combined light of both dimensions—the warm sunlight of Coruscant and the mystical glow of the portal—making the fabric seem to shift between blood-red and deep shadow.

As she crossed the threshold, the darkness didn't simply surround her—it consumed her, like a hungry thing finally catching its prey. The portal's light seemed to bend around her form, distorting her silhouette until it was impossible to tell where the chancellor ended and the void began. The last glimpse of her showed her head held high, a queen to the last, before the darkness claimed her completely.

In the distance, echoing through the Temple's corridors, came the sound of running footsteps and voices calling her name—Anakin's desperate shouts and Obi-Wan's more controlled calls growing closer. But they were too late. The portal sparked closed behind her, leaving only empty air where the Chancellor of the galaxy had stood moments before.