Rebel Moon Part One - A Child Of Fire: The Official Novelization E-Book

V. Castro

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 329

Beschreibung

When a peaceful settlement on a moon in the furthest reaches of the universe finds itself threatened by the armies of the tyrannical Regent Balisarius, a mysterious stranger named Kora becomes their best hope for survival. From Zack Snyder, the filmmaker behind 300, Man of Steel, and Army of the Dead, comes REBEL MOON, an epic science-fantasy event decades in the making. When a peaceful settlement on a moon in the furthest reaches of the universe finds itself threatened by the armies of the tyrannical Regent Balisarius, Kora (Sofia Boutella), a mysterious stranger living among the villagers, becomes their best hope for survival. Tasked with finding trained fighters who will unite with her in making an impossible stand against the Motherworld, Kora assembles a small band of warriors—outsiders, insurgents, peasants and orphans of war from different worlds who share a common need for redemption and revenge. As the shadow of an entire Realm bears down on the unlikeliest of moons, a new army of heroes is formed. Novelized by V. Castro, two-time Bram Stoker Award-nominated author. Experience Rebel Moon on the page in this pulse-pounding novelization.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

Acknowledgments

About the Author

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Rebel Moon Part One – A Child of Fire: The Official Novelization

Print edition ISBN: 9781803367316

E-book edition ISBN: 9781803367323

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First edition: December 2023

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

REBEL MOONTM / © Netflix 2023. Used with permission.

V. Castro asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

1

Rebellion is not for the impulsive or fool-hardy. It is for the truth seekers, the restless, the real third-eye seers who believe the howls of the soul create miracles. Rebels manifest change. Now tell me, are you a rebel?

— King Heron from Letters to My Children

THE UNIVERSE IS AN EVER-UNFURLING TONGUE OF A GIANT, SALIVATING BEAST seeking prey. Its black and smoky fur cloaks mysteries incomprehensible to the human mind or eye, but not to The King’s Gaze. Nothing escaped its coveting, cold, watchful glare. It moved quietly in low orbit amongst the dozen moons surrounding its destination.

Admiral Atticus Noble walked along the corridors of the grand citadel with priests and two of his Krypteian guards. He had an unannounced appointment with King Heron. Noble smirked at the title; “kings” on the outer worlds were mere administrators. King Heron stood in front of him with three of his advisors and guards.

“What a beautiful and prosperous city,” Noble said as he gave King Heron a smile. Heron didn’t match this gesture. He knew exactly why the admiral had landed in his dropship in the center of the main square. The Realm always made their presence known.

“Thank you. I know you didn’t come all this way to give me compliments.”

“No. I did not, sadly. It is actually a matter of grave importance. I have the responsibility of finding Devra and Darrian Bloodaxe from Shasu. It pained me to know they had been given sanctuary here. Now, I kindly ask you: hand them over. When you do so, I will leave as if I never set foot here in the first place.”

King Heron held his ground. “I cannot. They are my guests. Your business with them is not mine.”

Noble walked closer and his entourage of priests and Krypteian Guard followed. Heron didn’t allow his fear to show. He had given his word to the Bloodaxes. That was final. Noble looked to the vaulted ceiling of the citadel and the stained glass filtering the sunlight. He clapped his leather-gloved hands together. He chuckled to himself with a thought only he could see and hear. “I will ask you one more time. Hand over the Bloodaxe rebels.”

Heron didn’t have to think about his answer. “Again, I respectfully decline.”

Noble looked Heron in his eyes. In his cold, dark stare that showed he possessed no soul, the real Noble emerged. “Very well. That is your choice.”

“It is.”

Noble nodded. “Until we meet again.” He turned on his heels and walked out of the citadel back to his dropship.

King Heron’s general leaned into his ear. “What are your wishes with this turn of events?”

“Tell the Bloodaxes to prepare themselves. They must be ready to flee.”

The general gave him a short nod and left. Heron stood alone and wondered if he would ever meet Noble again. He hoped not.

*   *   *

The hangar on one of the sides of The King’s Gaze opened for a single dropship to emerge and land on the planet below. Atticus Noble stood in silence as he watched the scenes from the city of Toa on a monitor. The flames were the same bright color as the sand. It would burn so ferociously that no amount of its vast jade waters could quell the fires. Cleansing heat. Everything bends to flame. All that history, hundreds of thousands of years of memory, becoming ash in a matter of hours. No one would ever see the magnificence of the stone city as it was originally created. Noble felt nothing for the loss or those who lay dead. Each corpse looked exactly like the next.

There is hurt, then there is pain and agony, followed by utter despair. Finally, we are met with waking death. That is where peace is found, because nothing exists in the sphere of annihilation. There is no fight left. Noble knew this because he could not be more dead inside, and that gave him a sense of peace and direction.

He glanced back to the six priests mumbling prayers under their breath, behind their masks with red streaks below the eyes and old kingdom calligraphy across the mouth. Their decadent thick red robes and wide-brimmed hats embroidered in gold and white always emitted the scent of incense and smoke, as if the folds captured the aroma to remind everyone that the old religion demanded piety at all times. Skulls topped with gold spikes sat on each shoulder. Their presence was a representation of the sacred and the profane in the universe. He preferred his uniform and weapons to robes. The five-thousand-strong army awaiting his arrival would respond to metal before prayer. They saw more of death than God. Death had to be their sovereign.

Noble landed in the main plaza, reduced to rubble as he had instructed. When the dropship doors opened, the scent of burning wood, paper, and flesh hit his nostrils. It was a familiar scent. He led the way down the metal ramp with the priests trailing behind him like a blood-sodden cape. Before him stood his closest advisor, Cassius, who saluted him upon his approach but ignored the priests behind him. Also in Noble’s entourage were two Krypteian guards, Felix and Balbus.

Noble’s eyes scanned the oblivion that lay before him. Numerous bonfires leapt into the sky with books being cast inside as fuel. Their useless words finding a fitting end. Battered and bruised citizens kneeled in subservience, their magnificent sculptures and buildings that once rose toward the heavens now demolished to a state of humble ruin. Toa priestesses had their clothes torn off their bodies. They shivered in horrific anticipation as they watched their fellow priestesses being branded with a glowing red iron.

Noble continued toward Cassius until they stood face to face. “I see it is all going to plan here. Real obedience starts in the ashes. Well done. Where is the administrator of this world? Cassius, I would like a word with him.” said Noble with his unshakable confidence. His sharp and hollow features resembled a mere mask of skin over bone and animated evil. His presence demanded to be acknowledged, like a predator with its lethal attributes on show. Fear is all you can feel when you see them up close. But running is futile because the predator’s nature is to hunt.

Cassius remained stoic, one of the reasons Noble respected him above others. Nothing seemed to shock him. Cassius was a man who would never fall prey to some existential crisis. He knew his static place in the Imperium and had made peace with that. Following orders to the letter came easy for him. “He’s near the citadel, sir. He still fights.”

Noble despised misplaced heroics. It was a waste of time and energy. People should always know when to give up. “Hmm. Where is this citadel?”

Cassius pointed across the vast courtyard above the soldier’s heads toward a crumbling tower burning brightly with dark smoke billowing high into the atmosphere. “Just there. As I said, not much longer before it all collapses.”

Noble’s eyes narrowed at the sight. “Good. And have we captured the siblings?”

Cassius’s jaw clenched yet remained steadfast. “Sir, the administrator has orchestrated their escape. They have created this web of helpers in the universe to keep them fighting and out of our grasp.”

Despite this not being what he wanted to hear, Noble appreciated Cassius wasn’t the sniveling type. He always gave news to him straight and spoke plainly. He didn’t hide from the stark truth.

“Another reason why we show no mercy here. How many got away?”

“We destroyed most of their ships and men. Devra Bloodaxe and her brother, in the chaos, were able to evade us with a handful of ships.”

“Everyone thinks they can escape until fate finds them cowering and pleading for their wretched lives. Find this administrator, Heron. Hopefully still alive. I want those Bloodaxe bastard siblings sooner rather than later.”

*   *   *

King Heron kept journals of the many trials and tribulations of his succession and his reign. He also wrote letters to his children for when they were older and needed advice about life. They would inherit this kingdom, but he also wanted them to inherit some of his wisdom. They would have to navigate through the politics of the Realm, which was not easy since the death of the king. In fact, he despised the Motherworld and what it stood for: greed, bloodshed, and coercion. That is why he extended help to the Bloodaxe cause.

He knew about Shasu, how the Motherworld made domestic issues worse when they meddled with violence. The alliance was almost untenable once Balisarius had taken over as Regent. Balisarius relished in his power, he had spread his cancer throughout the Realm, killing so many worlds and innumerable people with the disease of war. King Heron would do whatever he could to overthrow that tyrant.

Alone in his personal office in the citadel, Heron tucked away his letters and journals in a box made to withstand time and the elements. It fit in a small recess below his desk covered with an animal skin. Not even an hour after the Bloodaxes left, he felt inspired to write. Shouts and the sounds of vehicles made him look to the door as heavy footfalls ran past. As he walked out of his office, a shadow with a familiar shape passed the stained glass in the citadel, handcrafted a century before. Guards secured the citadel and ran to their posts. Those who worked there fled with terror in their eyes.

No one noticed him as he ran by. He was dressed in plain clothing that day, and all were more concerned with their own safety. He rushed to the main entrance, pushing past bodies and shouts. His eyes glazed over with darkness of the deepest abyss in the waters of the Biwa Sea when he saw three warships arriving in their airspace. But he had taken a side. He had to live with that.

With his own eyes, he saw the first blazing fireballs bombard the city before him. Alarms blared to a deafening volume as the ground shook. More guards poured into the citadel. One grabbed his arm, with the sigil of First Elite Lieutenant. “I have been looking for you. You must flee! I have sent a patrol to your residence. There was little warning of their approach, but we received a dispatch from the Bloodaxes. They were attacked deeper into space but got away.”

“I need to get to my family.”

“Yes, sir. I will have transport sent there immediately. If anything should happen, I will also have another sent here to the citadel.”

“Thank you.” Heron turned from the guard and began to run to his family. The residence was not far, because he wanted his children to see the day-to-day running of a kingdom, but it was far enough for them to be in grave danger if the Imperium soldiers got to them before he did.

When he arrived, Maia stood with their three children in the grand foyer decorated with fresh flowers and large oil paintings of their ancestors. Now they were knocked down as the residence shook under the shelling. Yet, she still looked regal. From behind her outer robe, he could see the tip of her large, sheathed blade. He loved her bravery. If he died, their kingdom would be in good hands with her leadership.

Clara and Calliope stood either side of their mother, with little Clara holding the family pet, Bergen, in a small cage. The two girls shared their mother’s fear. His teenage son, Aris, huddled next to his mother and sisters with a rifle in hand. He did his best to stay calm, but Heron knew his son was panicking inside. That was okay. With the direction the Motherworld was headed, he knew his children would experience war sooner or later. The Realm was unceasingly bloodthirsty, their senseless lust for violence never satiated. The destruction around him proved he was right to help the Bloodaxes.

“Heron, what is going on?” asked Maia.

“No time to explain now. Transport should be waiting outside. We go right now. Don’t take anything but what you have on you.” The walls of their home continued to crumble, the bombardment escalating. Shouts could be heard coming from the hallway that joined the foyer and the main sitting room. Heron snatched the rifle from his son, raised it above their heads, and pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed into the air, causing the little girls to scream.

He gave the rifle back to Aris then reached for Clara’s hand to lead them out of the royal residence. The little girl took her father’s hand. They ran through the front entrance into the unfolding devastation outside. Heron handed Clara to her sister and picked up a rifle that had been discarded on the ground. Through the smoke of burning buildings, they could see one of their own dropships approaching to land on the manicured lawn, surrounded by large palm trees to give the residence another shield besides the ornate high steel gates topped with spikes that looked like the open beak of a bird.

Soldiers and citizens ran outside the gates to escape the carnage. As the family looked to the sky, the dropship burst into flames. Maia gasped, “No.”

A larger Imperium ship’s shadow could be seen moving across the lawn of the residence. Heron and his family looked back. They were going to destroy their home. Cannon fire crashed not far from their feet. They all ducked from the spewed dirt and blood. Flesh flew across them. “To the citadel!” he shouted as he scooped Clara into his arms and began to run. The family dashed through the small side gate that was usually manned by elite soldiers outside. Heron looked into the retina lock. The steel gate opened.

Some of their soldiers lay dead, the others probably drawn out to the fight. When they passed the pedestrianized walkway between the residence and the path to the citadel, a large explosion made them duck and look behind them. The royal residence no longer existed. King Heron grabbed his son’s arm and brought him close. “Beneath the floorboards of my office in the citadel are letters for you and your sisters. Your mother and Calliope know. If anything should happen—”

Another explosion stopped Heron from finishing his thought. He turned to run again toward an already bombarded citadel. It was their only remaining hope for escape. It was clear the Realm held no room for discussion or dissension. They wanted a homogeneous kingdom of ethnic purity and singular thought.

*   *   *

King Heron and his family crouched behind the fallen statue of a god who must not exist, because this place was devoid of any benevolence. His daughters, Clara and Calliope, tried their best to not cough from the choking smoke stinging their throats. Sweat rolled down his face and soaked his black tunic. He wiped his palms against his trousers to take aim at the soldiers who cornered them at the citadel.

His son still held a rifle. They all had to fight to make it out alive. His wife, Maia, and two girls moved through the giant shards of stone as Heron took aim. He landed a clean shot straight into the forehead of one of the soldiers. Crimson droplets sprayed into the air with the glowing embers carried on the wind from the razed city outside. He could hear Clara scream at the sight while Calliope impatiently shushed her.

But this is where Heron excelled, the part of him his daughters didn’t know. Don’t come for an expert marksman without expecting there is a chance you might land directly in their crosshairs. Soldier after soldier fell to the ground in rapid succession. His eyes scanned ten men through the smoke and gunfire. Despite his hits, more soldiers closed in with the movement of a vicious tide. He whipped his head toward his son. “We need to drop back.”

His son didn’t move. “But Father…”

Maia grabbed her son’s forearm with a firm hold and stern, authoritative expression. She also glanced at her daughters. “You heard your father. We need to move. Girls, let’s go now. To the door.”

Heron nodded and his son obeyed. They made their way to the stairs. Bergen squawked in its cage as they moved fast. Calliope tried to make Clara part with it when the fighting began, but it was the only way Clara, at eight years old, would leave their home as their mansion took the first of the series of bombardments. It was a gift from her father. He had one when he was her age, his pet was Bergen’s mother. The hairless blue creature was agitated, showing its tiny razor teeth and banged against its gilded cage. It’s three-fingered grip pulled at the small opening, which was locked. “Shhhh, Bergen,” she told the creature.

Her older sister, Calliope, pushed past hurriedly with a scowl on her face. “That thing is going to get us killed.”

Calliope screamed and stopped as six soldiers approached the stairs. One grabbed her tightly with both his arms over the top half of her chest. She struggled and kicked, but he was too large for her to escape. Clara began to holler and cry. Bergen mimicked her with a screech. Heron rushed behind Clara and took aim just above Calliope’s head. She knew to stay still and stopped trying to fight back. In an instant, her captor’s blood jetted across her face and hair.

Heron dispatched the rest of the soldiers. Out of the soldier’s clutches, Calliope ran to her father, who continued up the stairs, rifle at the ready for whoever stood in their way. The family sprinted with the soldiers cleared away. Maia led with the girls. Another scream rang through the stairway. It was his wife.

Heron bolted as fast as he could, ignoring his aching muscles and dry mouth. He saw Maia plunging her wedding gift, a twelve-inch engraved curved blade dripping in blood, into the neck of an attacking soldier. Another rushed toward her. This one got it in the stomach. A powerful, sure slash that split him open.

Her hand trembled, wrapped around the smooth wooden handle decorated with gold. When they had no choice but to leave their palace, she tucked it into a belted sheath beneath her robes. The blood of the soldiers had painted her face and gown. The moment of pause was interrupted by a series of loud beeps followed by an explosion of stone and dust. The stairs and columns behind them were deliberately destroyed.

Heron and his son ran for cover beneath the fortified archway as the stairway behind was damaged. Maia and the two girls were thankfully already safe inside the throne room in front of them. Their hair and skin were covered in powdery debris clinging to sweat. Maia looked to the stairway and back at Heron with tears in her eyes. He knew her well enough to know the terror behind the tears she would try to hold back for the sake of her children. Every explosion and bullet blasted another hole in her heart, and the hope they would make it out alive.

Heron touched his son’s shoulder. “Son, get your mother and your sisters to the throne room. Go.”

The boy, bordering on early manhood, squeezed the barrel of the rifle in his hands and nodded. With a swift jerk he grabbed his youngest sister by her left arm. The sudden movement caused her to drop her unsettled pet. “Bergen!” she screamed.

“No! We must go. It will only slow us down,” said Calliope.

Maia touched the back of Clara’s head and took Calliope’s hand. She looked back one last time at her husband with tears falling down her cheeks. The little creature pushed against the overturned cage to escape. No luck.

Heron turned to the sound of soldiers climbing over the rubble on the stairway. He aimed his rifle. A volley of shots hit all around him, blasting stone. There was little to no cover to be had as he tried to avoid them. He roared in pain and grit his teeth as a round hit his left thigh. He looked down at his torn flesh and pressed on the wound. Allowing only a moment to recover, he continued to fire at the soldiers until his rifle shot its final round. He glanced at the weapon and dashed around a remaining column. He flipped it around and waited for the next body to find his wrath.

His rifle wasn’t completely useless. As a soldier approached, Heron smashed the butt into the center of his face. The soldier fell back with his nose dislodged and hemorrhaging blood. Six other men charged toward Heron. His eyes darted, sizing them up. Forgetting his wound in the heat of battle, he fought his way through them with the ferocity of a wild beast taken with madness. He was not a beast or a king, but a father and husband fighting for the survival of his family.

He grabbed the soldier whose nose he had broken and used him as a shield as a shot was fired his way. Blood splashed Heron’s face and mouth. His left hand grabbed the dead soldier’s weapon before it could fall out of his hand and shot back, hitting the sniper through the neck. The five living soldiers walked through their fallen comrade’s mist of blood as they unloaded their weapons at Heron, their bullets missing or wasted on the corpse shield. He fell to one knee and aimed with precision, fatally hitting three more before crawling behind a fallen statue. He glanced at the weapon. He would be out of ammunition soon. The next few shots had to count to kill the remaining two soldiers.

To his left he noticed a steel bar that had fallen from the destroyed statue. He grabbed it as a piece of insurance in the event his ammo ran out before he killed the soldiers. The footfalls were close.

“Over there!” he heard one of them shout. Heron inched his way up and discharged the remaining shots. He hit one in the face before his weapon died. He ducked down again, grabbed the bar, and waited for the soldier to reload. The shooting stopped and Heron met the moment. His body tensed in agony from his wounds as he crouched and lifted the bar at an angle. As the soldier ran to face Heron, he plunged the steel bar through his belly. The soldier dropped his weapon with wide eyes as he reached for the bar. Heron scrambled for the gun and shot the soldier until it ran out of ammunition.

His chest heaved as he looked at the dead soldier skewered on the steel bar. He winced at the pain emanating from his thigh. The length of his trousers sodden, crimson. His eyes glanced toward the stairs. A man whose uniform let him know he held the position of sergeant stood with a small army behind him, at least thirty soldiers. They had slight smiles from the amusement of watching the fight.

Heron’s face dropped before running toward the archway. In the rush he tripped over a dead soldier’s boot. He gathered himself from the throbbing pain and exhaustion of the fight. He saw Bergen. His memories of childhood and the joy in his daughter’s eyes when she played with it flashed in his mind. It gave him hope. The creature trembled. He snatched the cage from the ground and crawled behind a large portion of fallen stone wall. With care, he opened the cage. He could feel the heat already building inside it as he gingerly removed it. The creature whined and squawked at being handled. He cradled it in one hand and rested his forehead against the creature’s head, and whispered, “They want to hurt her.”

The sound of his voice and breath calmed it down. With a blood-smeared thumb, he rubbed its belly. A deep hue of red began to glow from its insides. All its internal organs could be seen as they shifted. Heron continued to hold it close as it glowed brighter. The black threads of its veins became more prominent the brighter it became. “I wish it were me,” he whispered as he opened his eyes and placed the glowing creature down. Its neck lolled as it balanced on its spindly hind legs before dropping to all fours. With its twig-like arms and padded hands, it scampered in the direction of the soldiers.

Heron watched with deep sorrow as it crawled with remarkable agility through the debris with its inner light cast across the floor like a roving beacon. Hope in the darkness. It had to exist. That flame had to be kept alive before the Realm snuffed it out with its breath stinking of gore and indiscriminate doling out of death. He closed his eyes, before using the last of his strength to raise his body from the ground. He groaned as he attempted to run after his fall. All he could manage was a quick limp.

“There!” a soldier cried out, aiming his weapon at Heron.

The sergeant whipped his head in Heron’s direction. “Finish him,” he commanded the private. Without any hesitation, the soldier lifted his weapon and aimed at his moving target. With his finger on the trigger, he noticed in his periphery a red light moving across the floor. He released the tension on the trigger and shifted his eyes from Heron to his feet. His brow furrowed upon the sight of some sort of creature. It lifted its trembling body upright with strained and ear-piercing cries as it swayed.

The sergeant’s eyes widened upon seeing the shrieking animal growing brighter by the second with its dark veins pulsating in increasing speed. He said with a sneer, “No…”

In the next instant the room filled with an explosion to rival a grenade. The creature combusted with a force that vaporized the remaining soldiers. Heron had crawled far enough away not to meet the same fate; he was thrown face first to the ground from the impact. He lifted his head and coughed from inhaled dust and ash. With a deep groan, he reared his head and looked back. No survivors.

He had to find his family. Running was no longer an option, they’d have to hide until the invaders grew bored of attacking rubble. Heron limped into the throne room. Aris spotted him and waved for him to join them behind a fallen wall. “What do we do now, Father?” Aris asked.

Heron held onto his son’s shoulder and lowered himself to the floor. He winced in pain and touched his wound. “We wait. Let them be satisfied they made a lesson out of us, then leave. We will rebuild. What is the point of hunting us down? But seeing this. This is why I had to do what I did. This type of power… force of will on another. It must be questioned.”

He looked at his three children with love. “Promise me you will always ask questions and stand up for what you know is right.” His family surrounded him and gave him a warm embrace with tears in their eyes.

*   *   *

Noble had to admit the citadel was an impressive structure, with three intervals of steps leading to the throne room. He passed the entrance into the only remaining part of the once great building. Nothing existed except the echo of his boots amidst the destruction. To avoid soiling the leather, he weaved around the bullet-riddled and burnt bodies of the Inner Sanctum bodyguards that dotted the floor. It was a throne to ruin, with ash falling with the softness of snow. Next to him were Felix and Balbus, two of his best in the Krypteian Guard. The savagery of war permeated every crease and pore on their faces. It was enough to make some surrender in an instant. The original guards were plucked from a world that valued the same warrior mentality as the Motherworld. Their people knew how to fight, and fight hard.

Without any effort, Noble found the man he searched for, and as a bonus, his family. King Heron. They tried to remain quiet, huddled together like mice amongst the broken shards of stained glass and fallen stone as he approached. Two young girls’ eyes quivered in fear as Noble approached. The youngest gripped her mother’s arm and hid her face halfway behind her torso. He wasn’t surprised.

The lead priest held the Golden Scepter, a femur gilded in gold and blessed with the ancient language etched in the metal. Behind him, one of the faceless priests breathing heavily behind their masks held an icon. It was the assassinated Princess Issa’s image in a pure gold frame. Human teeth, rows of them, faced her image as if they bowed in pious service. To anyone, much less an ignorant child, it had to be frightening.

The ash continued to fall like small worms, maggots on rot. Noble brushed it off his shoulders with burning embers also blistering the atmosphere. His uniform could not be tarnished. The city outside would continue to burn for at least another day. When he stood before the family, he bowed, then returned to his imposing stance.

He watched the woman grab hold of both girls tightly then look at her husband. Heron sized up the guards and the priests. Noble knew men; if this one had any fight left within, he would attempt to kill them all for the sake of his young family and in the name of honor. But a single tear fell from the woman’s cheek as she looked at her husband.

“Tell me, what are you thinking as you look at him that way? I genuinely want to know,” said Noble.

She didn’t speak straight away, visibly startled by his voice and the odd question. “I… just a memory of the first snow of the season. We were at our winter palace. It was… beautiful. The joy.”

Noble swiveled his head toward Heron. “It saddens me, truly it does. It is a shame you are now cowering in ash rather than playing in snow. All of it is just so unnecessary… so utterly unnecessary. You made a choice.”

He raised his leather-gloved hands, palms up, as if he offered them an alternative if only they would take his hands. Heron’s face hardened, knowing he offered nothing and toyed with them.

“Please tell me your names.”

The man straightened his posture. “King Heron, as you damn well know. This is Aris, my son, Maia, my wife, and my daughters, Calliope and Clara.”

Heron placed a hand on his son’s forearm. “Don’t torture us. If you’ve come to kill me, do it. It was my decision to let them stay here and mine to help them flee. But for God’s sake, please I beg you, let my wife and children live. They’re innocent in all this.”

Noble’s eyes glided over the family, devoid of any emotion. There was only pure calculation. “Oh, I have not come to kill you. As a matter of fact, I come to assure you that your bloodline will survive, thrive. You fought with such dignity. How could I possibly kill you? However, there is a price to be paid, for your… shall we call it… your defiance. A price indeed.”

Noble took a step closer to Maia. He searched her face before his eyes traveled to her neck and three open buttons on her dress. A teardrop fell on her collarbone. He looked back into her eyes and smiled. The calm in his expression could not mask the coldness in his eyes. The tip of his index finger caught a tear on her cheek. He looked at it as if it was a foreign object he would never understand. He moved on and fixed on Calliope, then Clara. The youngest one shirked from his towering frame. “Oh, so young,” he said in a sinister tone before moving toward Aris, then stopping. “Stand up, let’s have a look at you.”

Aris remained still with a pensive expression as he looked at the armored Krypteian Guards sneering. Felix tapped on the trigger of his gun. Aris looked to his mother, who looked at him hard and shook her head in a slow, measured motion.

Noble’s face twisted in anger. “I said, ‘stand up’.”

Aris moved closer. Clara whined, “No, don’t.” She tugged at his clothing, trying to hold him down. Understanding that every move away from her, toward Noble, was a move that could not be retracted.

Noble’s eyes darted toward her with a sharpness that caused her to shrink further into her mother. “That a boy,” he said as he placed a hand on the back of Aris’s neck with his thumb and index finger digging deep to apply enough pressure to keep the boy under his control. Noble guided him away from his family, toward the two guards. Through gritted teeth, he whispered to him in a calm, low tone.

“There comes a point in every young man’s life when he finds himself on the threshold of manhood. A moment he always remembers. A moment, that after, he can look back on and know from that moment on, he was a man. For some, it comes in the form of moist lips and full breasts of a woman. For others, it could be leaving home for the first time, striking out on your own. But for you, it will be a choice you made.”

Noble twisted Aris to face his family and drew his lips close to his ear. “Are you ready to be a man? Your moment has arrived. Just like your father made choices against the Realm to bring us to this moment.”

A priest took a step forward and raised the Golden Scepter toward Noble, who gripped the gilded bone with one hand.

“You see, I was charged by the Regent himself. He looked in my eyes and bid me, bring to justice the siblings, Devra and Darrian Bloodaxe for their crimes of treason and insurrection. My search brought me here, where I learned your father had given them sanctuary and a base of operations from which they attacked and destroyed several assets belonging to the Realm.”

“Why are you doing this?” pleaded Heron.

Noble’s gaze snapped to Heron. He gently tapped the Golden Scepter on Aris’s chest. “It’s important your boy understand… What is his name?” Noble looked into Aris’s tear-filled eyes. “What’s your name, boy?”

Aris looked at the scepter, then back to his family, who all had dusty, weary faces with tear tracks running down their cheeks.

“Aris.”

Noble cocked his head toward him. “I didn’t quite get…”

“Aris!” he shouted back. His name echoed louder than the word “boy.”

Noble narrowed his eyes and gave him a sly smile. “Good. Okay, Aris. Let’s see if your father can’t teach you one last lesson. Take this holy object.”

Aris swallowed hard and took it into his shaky hands. The weight of it tugged at his arm for a moment when he first felt the weight of it.

“It is heavy. But that is what being grown sometimes means,” quipped Noble. “Here is your choice. If you bash in your father’s skull—I mean really bash it in until his brains spill out, on what was once this beautiful floor.” Noble strode over to Heron and knocked with his fist on his shaved head. He turned back to Aris. “I will let your mother and sisters live. But if you say ‘no’ like your father did… then you all shall die.”

The only sounds were those of the destruction occurring in the city and the wails of the citizens in the distance. Aris searched the faces of his family for answers, for a way out. There was no reassurance. He looked at Noble; Noble looked back. His stare unrelenting and dead. But it was in the eyes of the Krypteian that he gained the final clarity, and his last sliver of hope died. In those eyes he saw no sympathy, nor relish, just an understanding of the current reality. Finally, his father spoke.

“Aris, listen to me. You need to do as he says. Save your mother and sisters.”

Maia screamed from the depths of her belly with tears falling from her eyes, “Aris, no!” Clara and Calliope whimpered and cried. Heron looked at them frantically and back at Aris. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Don’t listen to her. Don’t look at her. Look at me. Save them. I am already dead.”

Both girls began to cry into the dirty robes of their mother. Maia shook her head. “Aris, let us go… Let us all go. I can’t live with this, and you can’t either. You won’t come back from this. None of us will. Please don’t do this.”

Heron shot Maia a stern look. “Don’t you dare look at her, you stay with me!” he shouted as Aris continued to glance back at his mother and sisters. “I said don’t look at her! Now, you do this. Be a man and do it. Save them. Do it. You are strong. Now save them.”

Aris looked down at the scepter and squeezed it with both hands. He shut his eyes as if to divine the right course of action. Noble placed a hand on his. “Listen to your father, Aris. He is a wise man.”

Aris opened his eyes again and raised the heavy relic. His eyes darted toward his little sister, who shook her head and cried in terror, while their mother sobbed with angry tears streaming down her cheeks.

“That’s right, son. You need to listen to me… Now, do it.” Heron said, before closing his own eyes. “I love you son… I forgive you.”

In one swift movement and with all his young might, Aris plunged the scepter into his father’s forehead with a scream that echoed through the emptiness of the ruins. Noble gasped as he sucked in air, as if he didn’t truly believe the boy had it in him to follow his orders.