Hell had opened up in the skies above as La Mort’s warship tore through space, the drums of war raging across the galaxy. The stars beat brightly, lighting up as though they wept for another planet fated to meet its demise at the hands of La Mort. But nothing would stop the king in his pursuit of one singular objective: to eradicate all remnants of the Zoronian race.

  Another planet on the chopping board, just like all the others before them. Each world—outmanned, outgunned, and overpowered—crumbled beneath his unrelenting pursuit of absolution.

  They travelled through space for hours. Each man was still as stone. No one moved. No one spoke. The soldiers stood silently, gazing into the vastness of space and the worlds they had already conquered, while La Mort, Cane, and Ezra sat at the centre of the command deck, each one painting his own emotion.

  Ezra looked around at the men. His shoulders sagged, his head hung low—he knew what was coming. Reflections of burning planets flicked across his eyes like a film reel, one after another, unrelenting. The screams, the blood, the agony—they pressed upon him like wounds that refused to close.

  Cane, on the other hand, was the author of pain, the very epitome of war and chaos. In his eyes, a symphony of destruction burned brightly. Visions of the slaughtered streamed across his gaze, each life taken reflected in a silent hymn of ruin. In that haunting orchestra of death, he saw himself not as the witness but the perpetrator.

  And as for their father he sat in silence, his face unreadable. To him, this was not cruelty; it was order. A balance that must be maintained. Every act, every victory, was another turn in the cycle he governed—his duty as king to keep the galaxy in check.

  La Mort’s hand reached out, opening the console. He pressed the black button and sent them into hyperspace. The stars stretched into white lines, a thousand threads pulling them through the fabric of space. The ship shuddered, bright white light wrapping around it, and in a blink, the vessel was gone.

  Then, one by one, the hundreds of ships that followed vanished as well.

  Moments later, La Mort’s mothership emerged from hyperspace, perfectly still. Planet Zoron filled the viewport. One by one, the fleet popped back into sight, flooding the darkness with steel and light.

  La Mort rose from his seat, his gaze falling upon the planet. That cold, unreadable look changed into something else. He flipped the switch, and his face carved into war itself, ready to ignite his soldiers into battle.

  Ezra had seen that look far too many times to forget. His heart pounded uncontrollably. Zoron was a world he had visited often with his father; he had built bonds, grown fond of its people. This one was personal.

  He couldn’t stand by and watch another planet cry out for help. He had to do something. But he knew his words would never pierce his father’s snake-like skin, so he turned to the soldiers.

  “Is this the life you envisioned for yourselves before you joined my father on this reckless crusade for power? Becoming slaves to the darkness, preying on the weak and the vulnerable?” Ezra paced slowly across the deck. “That doesn’t make you warriors—it makes you cowards.”

  One of La Mort’s soldiers stepped forward, his visor retracting. A young man, recently recruited from a barren planet—tall, athletic, black hair, brown eyes, full of confidence.

  “Ezra, Ezra, Ezra,” he said, tone sharp with disbelief. “What I envisioned for my life was far from this. I didn’t envision living this long. My people—if they weren’t killed by bandits, they were killed by starvation or thirst. If it wasn’t for your father taking me in, I’d be dead. It’s an honour I’ll never repay, but as long as I draw breath, I’ll pay your father back in the blood of his enemies.”

  He walked slowly down the steps of the ship, arms spread wide, embracing the moment.

  “I’m not the only one your father saved. He gave us purpose. I can speak for all of them. He gave us something to live for—to be part of a history that will be remembered, not washed away in blood. To be part of the greatest army this galaxy has ever assembled. We’ve all heard the stories of rulers before him, and their armies pale in comparison to the one your father unleashes on his enemies.”

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  “Bloodshed is never the answer,” Ezra replied. “We can achieve peace without violence—without slaughtering those who refuse to bow.”

  “Of course you’d see it that way,” the soldier shot back. “You sit on your high horse in your kingdom, away from the real world and all its struggles, judging what you know nothing about. Pain. Sacrifice. Struggle. Watching those you love slaughtered—you could never begin to understand any of us.

  “You were protected from the real world. Out there, people die every day. People suffer every day. And no amount of preaching will stop the galaxy from running as it does. Tell me, Ezra—you’ve seen your father conquer countless worlds. What makes this one different? Did those planets not have kings, queens, order, hierarchies that no one dared to change? Yet you stand here and condemn your father for the same thing—standing on what he believes until death.”

  Ezra’s lips parted slightly, a faint tremor in his bottom lip breaking through his frozen face. His eyes drifted into memory—lost in their tears, their screams, their agony.

  Please, Ezra, I’m begging you! the woman had screamed on Planet Merisha before she was dragged away and slaughtered before her children. Then came the father who refused to bow on Planet Savier, kicked to his knees. Any last words, scum? the soldiers had shouted.

  The man simply knelt there, a tear in the corner of his eye that refused to escape as he looked over at Ezra.

  Do as you must. I have nothing to say to your people.

  With a heavy swing of the axe, his head rolled next to Ezra’s boots.

  Ezra jolted slightly, snapping out of the flood of memories that pressed against his mind.

  “No!” he screamed. “I will not be tricked like all of you who stand before me! I may sit high in privilege, but I have also sat low with my people of Elden City. I’ve dirtied my boots beside them, worked beside them, lived beside them. I’ve never seen myself as a prince above the people, but one with them.

  “If I can make that change, so can others. Senseless violence and killing have been the cornerstone of kingdoms and so-called order, but I ask you this—what king has ever been brave enough to initiate change? To say no to the old ways and build something new for everyone?”

  “That’s because no king with power would accept such weakness, Ezra,” the soldier said with conviction.

  “You’re wrong,” Ezra spat back. “They don’t refuse change out of strength but out of fear—fear they’ll be rejected by their people, fear they’ll lose power. But what is gain without loss? We all have to go through the storm to reach the other side. And once we do, we’ll see the light again. They’ll see a king who dared to break the mould, to stand on change to benefit all.”

  Clap... clap... clap.

  The sound drew every eye to Cane as he stepped forward, a grin cutting across his face.

  “What a speech, brother. If I even had an ounce of care for these people, my heart would be beating to your every word—but I do not. And neither do these men. So give it a rest, brother. You won’t get sympathy from me or anyone on this ship. This planet falls beneath us on the food chain. They’re weak, insignificant—and their deaths would only be a loss to you... a mere child.”

  Ezra’s mouth twitched. His hands clenched by his sides. He could see he was fighting a losing battle, but that didn’t mean he would quit.

  “Do you think listening to Father’s every waking word will bring you closer to the throne?” he said. “Wake up, Cane. You’ll never sit upon that throne as long as Father breathes. He’s already shown you what power means to him, and you think he’ll just relinquish the only thing in this world that matters to him?”

  Ezra couldn’t contain his laughter any longer. He couldn’t believe his brother was so na?ve. The writing was on the wall for all to see—yet Cane couldn’t see it.

  “Hell will freeze over before you ever get the throne, brother.”

  Cane was outraged, storming toward him until their faces were inches apart.

  “You will not divide us, brother. Your tricks won’t work here. You’re merely adding fuel to the fire that’s heading straight toward your beloved Planet Zoron,” Cane hissed.

  But Ezra didn’t move. His head raised, eyes locking with Cane’s.

  “You really are blind, aren’t you, dear brother?” he said with a slight chuckle, the corner of his mouth curling into a sharp smile. “One day you’ll wake up, and when you do, I just hope there’s still a remnant of a soul left to save.”

  Is he right? Cane thought. Father’s hunger for power has never waned. He’s simply coveted more and more of it—an unrelenting thirst that never seems to be quenched. Will he ever just hand it all over?

  Cane snapped out of his thoughts, shaking his head rapidly, as though trying to shake free the poison of doubt his brother had dripped into his mind.

  “I will not allow you to poison me against my own father,” he said, grinning as he turned his back to Ezra. “There’s nothing you can do to save them, brother. Their death has already been ordained, and their maker waits patiently for us to send their souls back to where they came from.”

  Cane walked back over to his seat beside his father, his gaze falling upon planet zoron once more waiting patiently for his father to unleash him upon them an restore the balence once more.