Chapter 63: The Beginning Of The End

He lied to me.

The mourning bells of Qashka began before the sun had fully disappeared behind the twin horizons.

Their deep, hollow tones rolled through the palace and beyond it, passing through the great white towers and spilling into the cities beneath. One bell became two, then hundreds, until the entire planet seemed to vibrate with the sound of mourning.

Tuk’Aon stood at the center of the imperial courtyard.

He had not moved since returning.

His mother’s body had been placed upon a raised platform of white stone, surrounded by flowers that glowed softly beneath the evening sky. Her porcelain body had been dressed in ceremonial garments, mock rings carefully arranged around her limbs since her original ones had disintegrated moments after Tuk had realized his folly. The newborn rested beside her, impossibly small against the enormous platform.

Vashkis gathered from every corner of the kingdom.

Oroths stood shoulder to shoulder around the courtyard, their heads lowered. U’Kans stood behind them, their enormous bodies completely still. Even the youngest Miwas had been brought from their homes, many clutching their rings against their chests as the mournful singing began.

It started with a single voice.

Low.

Long.

Almost like a breath.

Then another joined.

Then another.

Soon thousands of voices filled the courtyard.

The Vashki song carried no words that Tuk’Aon could understand as language. It was something older than speech, a series of rising tones that seemed to tremble through the body rather than enter the ears. The singers raised their hands toward the stars as they chanted, their rings glowing in rhythm with their voices.

Tuk’Aon stood among them without singing.

His eyes remained fixed on his mother.

Above them, the first firework erupted.

A brilliant sphere of silver burst across the night sky.

Then another.

Then dozens.

The darkness became filled with enormous flowers of light. Violet, gold, blue and white, each explosion illuminating the porcelain faces of the mourners below.

They were beautiful.

Painfully beautiful.

But Tuk’Aon hated them.

His mother had loved fireworks.

She used to take him outside the ship whenever they passed through a planet celebrating some festival. She would lift him into her arms and point toward the sky, explaining each color and telling him that the brightest stars were the souls of Vashkis who had already passed beyond the world.

Now the fireworks were for her.

The singing grew louder.

A procession entered the courtyard.

At its center walked a Vashki priest dressed in layered white robes. Several rings floated around his neck and wrists, glowing faintly as he approached.

He carried something in his arms.

Tuk’Aon’s gaze lowered.

The priest stopped before him.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then the priest carefully extended his arms. The newborn, his brother, was wrapped in white cloth.

Tuk’Aon’s breath caught.

He stared at the tiny porcelain face. The child looked almost exactly like his mother.

Small and fragile.

The priest lowered his head.

"Your mother’s child... your brother cannot rise to the stars without a name."

Tuk’Aon said nothing but the priest continued, "Every Vashki must be called before the stars may recognize their soul."

Tuk’Aon’s fingers trembled.

He reached forward.

The priest placed the newborn into his arms.

The child was cold but Tuk’Aon held him against his chest. Hoping for a miracle.

An impossible miracle.

For a moment, he remembered the laboratory.

The restraints.

Merit’s voice.

The promise he had made that his mother would return.

His rings began to glow.

She did return.

Dead.

The chanting around him softened.

Everyone waited.

Tuk’Aon looked down at the child.

"You will carry my name."

His voice was quiet as he held the newborn closer.

"You will carry the name of the one who failed to protect you."

A firework exploded above them.

White light washed over the courtyard.

Tuk’Aon’s face remained expressionless.

"My name is Tuk’Aon."

He looked toward the stars.

"Your name will be Tuk’Aon."

The priest lowered his head.

The chanting resumed.

Tuk’Aon slowly turned toward his mother’s resting place.

His little sibling rested in his arms.

His mother lay only a few steps away.

Two members of his family.

Two souls waiting for the stars.

Tuk’Aon looked at the child one last time. His voice was barely more than a whisper now.

"With this child, I bury my merciful self."

The words carried farther than he intended.

The singing stopped.

Even the fireworks seemed to pause between explosions.

Every Vashki in the courtyard heard him.

Tuk’Aon lowered his gaze.

And for the first time since returning to Qashka, the young prince wept.

...

..

.

Months had passed since the stars had taken his mother.

Tuk’Aon had changed with them.

The young prince stood alone inside the imperial armory, surrounded by rows of weapons, armor, and ceremonial rings. What had once looked enormous now seemed almost ordinary beneath his gaze.

His hands moved methodically.

One ring.

Then another.

Then another.

He fastened each one around his porcelain body, checking the connections twice before moving to the next. His fingers no longer trembled.

They hadn’t for months.

The mourning robes had been replaced by armor and he had grown.

Dark plating covered his chest and shoulders, fitted tightly against his now larger frame. Gold markings ran across the porcelain surface, each one representing a different rank within the imperial bloodline.

More rings floated around his body than he had ever worn before.

Rings that belonged to his own people.

Traitors.

Criminals.

He needed as much power as there can be.

He needed the blood of those who took something very dear to him to flow down his palms.

Some rested around his wrists.

Others circled his arms, neck, waist, and ankles.

A final ring settled against his chest.

It pulsed.

Tuk’Aon looked at himself in the reflective surface before him.

He could still remember the child who had arrived on Earth asking to see his mother.

That child was gone.

A Vashki attendant approached.

"Your Majesty."

Tuk’Aon turned.

"The fleet is prepared."

He nodded.

"How is Vae’Thira doing?"

"He still hasn’t woken up."

"Peepee a carriage for him, he will be under my care until he wakes."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The attendant bowed and left.

Tuk’Aon remained still for another moment.

Then he reached toward the small ring snug against his thumb.

"I remember."

He put on the last bit of armor and marched towards the ship waiting outside.

The hangar doors opened.

Thousands of Vashki ships waited beyond them.

White vessels filled the enormous chamber, their surfaces reflecting the cold light of Qashka’s moons. U’Kans stood along the launch platforms in full battle armor, their rings glowing like stars. Oroths moved between them, checking weapons and equipment.

Above them all floated the imperial vessel.

Tuk’Aon entered and the doors sealed. Moments later, the fleet launched and Qashka disappeared behind them.

The journey to Earth was silent.

Tuk’Aon stood at the front of the command vessel, staring through the viewport as the planet slowly appeared.

Earth.

The place where his mother had disappeared.

The place where she had died.

And the place where that man had lied to him.

His rings began to glow.

"Prepare descent."

The fleet shifted formation.

One by one, the vessels entered the atmosphere.

Tuk’Aon’s ship followed.

The darkness of space gave way to clouds.

Then blue sky.

Then the enormous continents beneath them.

The air screamed against his armor as he descended alone.

He opened the hatch.

Wind tore around his porcelain body.

Tuk’Aon stepped into open air.

His rings ignited.

Gravity released him.

He hovered above the clouds.

Below him, the humans began to look upward.

Pointing and staring at the figure in the sky.

Sirens began screaming across the cities.

Aircraft scrambled into the sky.

Weapons turned toward him.

Tuk’Aon slowly raised both arms until his body formed a perfect T.

His rings brightened.

Behind him, the Vashki fleet emerged from the clouds.

Hundreds.

Then thousands.

The sky darkened beneath them.

Tuk’Aon looked down at the world that had taken everything from him.

Then he spoke.

"Thaek ’nor, Vaeshi Shi’va Khevar."

Do not fear, we speak war.