“Cough—cough…”

  Ash drifted on the wind, settling over what had once been Los Angeles National Park—a wasteland now, the earth scorched and lifeless, the air thick with the bitter tang of burnt wood and something metallic. Yan Qing lay sprawled on the barren ground, his black hair tangled with soot, his skin streaked with grime and blood. The world around him was silent except for the faint crackle of cooling embers and the distant, hollow moan of the wind.

  The scientist twitched, pain lancing through his limbs as he forced himself upright. His mind spun in confusion, unable to grasp the reason for his presence or the source of his agony. Lost in the haze, he struggled to recall, but every attempt slipped away. Then, abruptly, memory slammed back into his head—sharp, undeniable—bringing the truth crashing down upon him. His breath came in ragged gasps, lungs raw from smoke and grief. “Chen…” The name tore from his throat, hoarse and desperate.

  With trembling hands, Yan Qing reached for the body beside him, hauling Chen’s limp form into his lap. His fingers fumbled, frantic, searching for any sign of life—warmth, a pulse, a miracle. But Chen’s head lolled, golden hair spilling across Yan Qing’s arms, lashes dusted with ash. There was no response. No breath. No heartbeat.

  A numbness spread through Yan Qing’s chest, cold and suffocating. He stared at Chen’s face, willing it to move, to smile, to open its eyes.

  But there was nothing.

  “Idiot…” Yan Qing’s voice broke, muffled as he pressed his face into Chen’s chest, clinging to the last trace of warmth. “You’re the dumbest… dumbest alien I’ve ever met…” His shoulders shook with silent sobs, the sound swallowed by the empty sky. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think. If he stayed like this—if he held on tightly enough—maybe Chen would wake.

  But the world had already moved on.

  Suddenly, a pair of arms seized Yan Qing from behind, wrenching him away from Chen’s body with brutal force. The connection was severed in an instant, leaving him gasping, reaching, desperate.

  “Let go of me! Let go!!” Yan Qing thrashed, wild with grief, but the grip was unyielding—iron around his chest and arms.

  “Come with me, Yan Qing.” Chris’s voice—familiar, yet now cold and alien—breathed against his ear, heavy with command.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “No!! You bastard—I hate you!!” Yan Qing spat, twisting and fighting, but Chris’s strength was inhuman. He barely seemed to notice the struggle as he pulled out a comm device and spoke, voice flat and merciless: “The Ultimate Weapon has been found. Evacuate immediately.”

  Above them, the sky split open. A ship—vast, circular, nothing like the diamond-hulled Teleopean vessels—descended with a low, resonant hum. An opening yawned in its belly, and a pale green light spilled down, bathing the ground in an unearthly glow. Yan Qing felt his feet leave the earth, gravity slipping away as he and Chris were lifted into the air.

  Below, Chen’s body grew smaller and smaller, golden hair stark against the blackened earth. Yan Qing reached out, fingers clawing at empty space, throat raw with a final, broken cry.

  “Chen—!!”

  The hatch sealed with a hiss, cutting off the world. The ship spun, faster and faster, until the landscape blurred and vanished.

  Silence fell.

  On the ground, only Chen’s lifeless body remained. The night wind brushed his sleeping face, stirring golden lashes. The world was utterly still in the fading light.

  Over the ruined forest, nothing remained but blackened trunks and splintered stone, the land stripped bare by fire and violence. Above the devastation, a ship that did not belong to this world glided in utter silence, its hull casting a cold shadow over the scorched earth.

  On a ridge, Shi’s voice cut through the hush, brittle with urgency. “Xiao—where is Chen’s bio-signal?” His words hung in the air, unanswered. He turned, eyes wide, searching the other man’s face. “Xiao?”

  Xiao’s usual composure had cracked. His golden eyes flickered, disbelief and panic warring in their depths. “The signal… disappeared a moment ago.” His voice was thin, almost lost to the wind.

  No signal.

  Shi’s fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. “That’s impossible,” he whispered, as if saying it softly might make it less true. His jaw trembled, but he refused to let the words settle, refused to let them become real.

  A third voice, cold and flat, sliced through the tension. “Tell me the last location.”They turned, startled, to find the silver-haired Teleopean standing behind them—his arrival unnoticed, his presence as chilling as the wind that swept the ashes.

  “…Yes, High Chancellor.” Xiao bowed his head, the motion heavy with dread.

  Mian’s gaze was glacial, his eyes narrowing to slits. “If anything has happened to him,” he said, each word sharp and precise, “then the ones who will bear responsibility are all of you.” His stare lingered, unblinking, until it landed on Shi. “Including you, Shi.”

  Shi’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining from his posture. “Of course…” he murmured, not bothering to defend himself. His face was drawn, haunted by understanding.

  A memory slammed into him—his own child, broken in Lian’s grasp, golden blood pooling on cold stone. He saw it again: the empty eyes, the silence after the scream. His knees buckled. He staggered, clutching at the wall for support, nails digging into the stone until his knuckles blanched.

  No. Not again. Please, not again.

  His heart hammered so violently he thought it might burst. The world narrowed to a tunnel, the edges of his vision blurring.

  A whimper slipped out, raw and broken. “Please…” The word was barely a sound, more breath than voice. “Please, don’t let it happen again.”