The world feels heavy as I leave the palace.
My steps are sure, but my heart is less so. There is no going back now. Either they surrender, or they fall. And with them, everything I've tried to suppress—my rage, my grief—will be unleashed.
I take a hidden transport to the outskirts, where the real heartbeat of our mission lies: the hidden camp. Deep within a dense, mist-covered forest, shielded by camouflaging tech stolen from their own labs, we have established a base. This is where Prince Fula is kept.
The soldiers on watch salute me as I approach. I wave them off; formality feels hollow right now.
Inside a reinforced shelter, I find him.
Prince Fula sits cross-legged on a cot, scribbling in a notebook we gave him. He's remarkably composed for a child his age—only the slight quiver in his hand gives away his fear.
When he sees me, he lights up.
"You came back," he says, voice small but certain.
For a moment, I just stare at him. This boy... he has no part in his father's sins. He's innocent. But innocence isn't enough to stop the machine of war.
I kneel before him.
"How are you feeling, Prince?" I ask gently.
"Better," he says. Then, after a pause: "I miss home."
I ruffle his hair—something I never thought I'd do to a royal heir. "You'll see it again," I lie. Or maybe I don't know if it's a lie anymore.
Later that night, under the flicker of stolen broadcast satellites, I force the King into an announcement.
He stands in front of his people, his face hard and unreadable. Behind him, the palace burns in the distance, a grim reflection of his failures.
He speaks:
"I have failed you," he says, voice booming across the airwaves. "I was unable to conquer the planet we sought. I was unable to protect my son."
The crowd gasps, chaos rippling through the city streets.
"But," he continues, his face resolute, "even though my son has been taken, I remain faithful to our people. I will not cower. We will go to war, for there is only enough space for one species on that new world. We will be the victors."
The soldiers around him rally, shouting slogans of defiance. The people watching cling to his words like a drowning man to driftwood.
Then—
I make my move.
I swoop into the broadcast, stepping into view. For a moment, the world sees my true face. Then I shift, my form bending and twisting until I resemble my father—the same man the King's soldiers murdered.
Gasps and cries fill the air.
I point at the camera.
"This is your hero," I say coldly. "This is your savior. He couldn't even tell that one of his trusted was his enemy."
I let my form flicker rapidly—father, soldier, citizen, royal advisor—showing them the horror of what we are capable of.
"My arm could be next to you," I say, voice growing darker. "Your friend, your family—it could be me."
Panic spreads like wildfire across their planet.
I turn to the King's family, standing frozen behind him. His wife, his daughter—tears in their eyes as they realize the betrayal they never saw coming.
"All your soldiers sent to Earth," I continue, "will be executed. And after them, we will come for you all."
The King, face twisted with rage and despair, lunges.
I move faster.
The camera cuts out violently as I strike, the fate of the King left unknown.
The world plunges into silence, fear blooming like a poison in their hearts.