Continuation...
MICHAEL
Charlotte grips the controls with steady hands, her eyes scanning the sky ahead. She sits in the first pilot's chair, shoulders square, jaw tight. Emma's in the second seat, focused, fingers dancing over the glowing interface. I'm behind them, popcorn in hand, half-watching the clouds blur past the windshield, half-listening to the quiet hum of the Quinjet's engine.
No alarms. No turbulence.
Just quiet.
Then—there it is.
Our destination.
The Quinjet glides through a break in the clouds, revealing a massive city below, etched into a rocky valley like a jewel set in stone. Towers shimmer with alien light, their bases wrapped in curling patterns of silver and bronze. Wide stone bridges connect them over glowing rivers that pulse with blue energy. Despite the unfamiliar terrain, something about it feels… peaceful.
"Wow," Charlotte murmurs, almost to herself. "This place is beautiful."
Emma leans forward, tilting her head. "It looks a lot like Earth. Like… old cities, but way more advanced."
I swallow a handful of popcorn, watching as the Jet approaches a flat clearing just outside the city. "Emma, can you find Erebus without talking to anyone? No translators, no awkward alien meet-and-greets?"
She pauses, thoughtful. "Technically, yes. But barging in unannounced won't end well. We need to be polite — give them a reason to trust us."
I frown. "And what if they don't speak English? Or don't believe a word we say?"
Charlotte glances back, smirking. "Then we tell them about the magical helmet. That'll get their attention."
I chuckle. "Funny thing is, we barely know anything about that helmet… or about Erebus."
Emma shrugs. "It's better than showing up empty-handed."
Then Charlotte's hands tighten on the controls. "Alright, we're landing. Whatever happens next — stay sharp. Expect the unexpected."
The Quinjet descends smoothly, touching down with barely a jolt. Charlotte's flying is precise — graceful, even. As the engines power down, I unbuckle and step toward the exit, heart thudding louder now that we're here.
"Wait," Emma says, unclipping her harness and falling into step beside me.
Charlotte joins us at the door. No one's speaking, but we're all thinking the same thing: This could go very wrong.
"You ready?" I ask, resting my hand above the door panel.
They both nod. No words needed.
I press the button.
The ramp lowers with a soft hiss. Sunlight pours in — but it's quickly blocked by the figures waiting outside.
Dozens of soldiers, dark blue-skinned and towering, at least eight feet tall. Their bodies are thick with muscle, postures rigid. Their uniforms are styled with long double-breasted coats of deep navy, lined with silver piping, high collars pressed against their thick necks. Each wears a leather sash across the chest, and bronze medallions glint under the twin suns. Tall cylindrical hats — like tarbooshes with metal trim — rest on their heads. They look like a mix of 1863-era Khedive guards and something far more alien.
And all of them have weapons drawn — long rifles with glowing barrels — aimed straight at our heads.
"Freeze!" one of them shouts in a deep, guttural voice.
My stomach drops. Popcorn spills from my hand.
"Oh God," I whisper, raising both hands slowly. "We're so screwed."
EREBUS
I approach them—Agrona and Jabez—my hands empty. The weight of what I've just done—or failed to do—hangs heavy on my shoulders.
Jabez sees me first. "Finally, our Emperor arrives in peace," he says, a faint trace of confusion in his voice.
They both drop to one knee, their heads bowed, loyal as always.
"Long live Emperor Erebus," they say in unison.
I stare at them for a moment, unsure of what to say. Their loyalty has never wavered. I almost envy their clarity.
"Rise, my loyal warriors," I say, and my voice comes out deeper than I expect.
They stand. Agrona's eyes find mine, and I can see it—she knows. She sees it in my silence, in the absence of the Helmet in my hand. She knows I left without taking it… without finishing what I came for.
I turn away before she can speak and walk toward the ship.
"Did you forget something, Your Imperial Highness?" she calls gently.
I stop halfway up the ramp. "No," I say without turning. I keep walking.
"You actually forgot to retrieve the Fortune Helmet, Your Highness," she says.
Her voice doesn't accuse. It reminds.
My feet slow. I stop again—closer now to the ship than to them.
A long silence.
"I apologize for questioning you, Your Highness," Agrona says. "But... may I speak freely?"
I rest one foot on the next step and glance over my shoulder. My voice is low, gravel-like. "You may."
"You didn't hesitate when you wiped out Treasure Planet for the first weapon. You didn't blink when you executed Trivium's father... or his brother. You've always been decisive. Ruthless when it mattered. And now, with Khedive…" She hesitates, then continues, "Now, you show mercy?"
Her words land like a blow across my chest.
I turn to face them, the ache rising in my throat. "I've learned that, Agrona," I say quietly. "I know what mercy costs. But Khedive… he's not like the others. His family didn't deserve to die. Not them."
There it is. My weakness laid bare in front of those sworn to follow me.
Agrona doesn't back down. She steps forward, eyes hard but not unkind. "Do you remember what compassion earned you last time?" she asks. "Do you want me to remind you what mercy brought you?"
I close my eyes.
And the past returns.
---
FLASHBACK – THE RESTORATION CHAMBER, HELIOS PALACE
I lay on the biobed in the heart of the Restoration Chamber, staring at the light fractals dancing across the crystalline ceiling. The soft hum of stabilizing fields buzzed beneath my skin. Warm fluid pulsed through narrow silver tubes suspended above me, feeding into needle-thin ports embedded in my face. The air carried the sharp scent of sterilized ozone and metal—a cold, clean blend of science and war.
The Restoration Chamber wasn't just a place of healing. It was where Helios warriors were rebuilt. The walls curved inward like the shell of a celestial dome, pulsing with pale blue veins of energy that moved in rhythm with the occupants' vitals. Each bed responded to its patient's biology, shifting, adjusting, regenerating. I'd lain here before—burned, broken, bloodied—but nothing had ever pierced me as deeply as what was to come.
The door hissed open.
My father entered without ceremony, flanked by two guards. His armor glinted like obsidian fire, every piece sharpened to intimidation. He didn't look at the machines, or the damage written across my body. Only at me.
"You held back today," he said, voice like thunder contained in steel.
I pushed myself upright despite the sharp ache in my ribs. "Maybe I did," I answered, meeting his gaze. "Maybe I saw something worth sparing."
He approached with measured steps, each one clicking on the polished black floor. "You think that was respect?" he growled. "It wasn't. It was weakness. The moment you hesitate is the moment you die. We are Helios. We do not bend. We purge the weak to remain strong."
I kept my voice steady. "Sometimes the weak become strong... if you give them the chance."
He stood still.
Then he stepped closer, until his shadow fell over the bed.
"I made a mistake," he said coldly. "I've sheltered you. I let your mother's softness infect your blood."
His next words cut like a blade to the chest.
"If the palace has failed to teach you what it means to rule," he said, turning toward the guards, "then perhaps exile will."
He nodded once.
"Strip him of his rank," he commanded. "Let the outside world teach him what I could not."
The guards stepped forward.
I didn't resist.
I simply looked away—and in that quiet moment, whatever remained of innocence within me...
Was gone.
---
The memory fades.
I'm back on the ship's ramp, breathing heavily. Agrona is still watching me, her face firm.
She doesn't say more. She doesn't have to. Her silence speaks with the voice of my father. With the echo of exile. With the reminder that compassion has no place in power.
I stare at the steel walls of the ship.
And whatever mercy was left in me…
Dies.
To be continued....