Heirs Beneath Twin Suns
1591 Words
Seventy-three Earth years had passed.
On Caeloryx, time wore its weight differently.
Snow fell in slow, deliberate sheets, each flake refracting the pale blue-white glow of the sky. The forest stood frozen beneath it. Towering crystalline trees bent under the hush of cold, their branches sharp as spears, their roots embedded deep into living stone.
Eight figures moved through the snow.
They advanced in practiced silence, armor sealed from head to toe, boots barely disturbing the surface. Red sigils pulsed faintly across their suits, synchronized, alive. Hunters. Coordinated. Watching.
They stopped.
Ahead of them, standing alone in the clearing, was a single figure.
Syl’Seraxis.
He stood with his eyes locked on them, hands relaxed at his sides, dark cloak stirring faintly in the wind. Snow gathered on his shoulders and hair, melting almost as quickly as it landed.
A hunter fires red energy blasts from his eyes at Syl.
Syl vanishes upward in a burst of displaced snow, the ground fracturing where his feet had been. One hunter fires another through his chest — red energy lancing through the space Syl had occupied a heartbeat earlier. Another took to the air, palms glowing.
Syl descended like a falling star.
He struck the first hunter mid-flight, the impact crumpling armor and hurling the body into a tree with bone-shaking force. He pivoted, caught a second by the chest plate, and sent him skidding across the ice in a spray of fractured frost.
Blasts filled the clearing.
Syl weaved through them, faster than sight, strength precise but unrestrained. He disarmed one, shattered another’s visor, and drove a third into the ground hard enough to leave a crater.
For a moment, it looked effortless.
Then...
Something moved behind him.
A massive shape tore free from the snow.
The Umgür lunged.
Its form was brute and angular, built for violence with thick limbs, reinforced plating, eyes burning a violent red. It slammed into Syl from behind, its weight immense, its timing perfect.
They flew.
The world became motion and wind and impact as both figures sailed off the cliff’s edge. Ice shattered beneath them as they crashed onto the frozen basin below.
Syl hit first.
Pain exploded through him.
The Umgür did not hesitate.
It struck again and again, each blow calculated, relentless. Syl tried to counter, fists crashing into the thing’s armored frame, but the strikes did nothing. His breath tore from his lungs. Blood bloomed dark against the ice.
He screamed.
Not in fear.
In frustration.
The Umgür raised its arm for the final blow...
And froze.
The wind stopped. The snow stilled. The Umgür’s form fractured into light.
The world dissolved.
The forest, the cliff, the ice, all disassembled into glowing lines and vanished.
Syl lay gasping on the smooth metallic floor of the training chamber, chest heaving, vision swimming.
Footsteps approached.
“Again,” came a voice—calm, hard, unimpressed.
Gralvyn el’Norzath stood over him, arms folded, broad frame casting a shadow. His armor bore the scars of centuries, not decorative, not ceremonial. Earned.
“You left your back open,” Gralvyn said. “Again.”
Syl clenched his jaw, pushing himself upright despite the pain.
“You won,” Gralvyn continued. “Against eight simulations.”
“That Umgür—” Syl began.
“—was designed after Kravikx tactics,” Gralvyn cut in. “And you died.”
Syl said nothing.
“You don't seem to understand, do you? The Seraxis and the Kravikx have butted heads for over eight hundred varakan,” Gralvyn went on. “You just fought projections. The real ones do not follow patterns. They adapt. They enjoy it. They're ruthless.”
He leaned closer.
“You cannot overpower them,” he said quietly. “You must outthink them.”
Gralvyn straightened.
“Tend to your wounds,” he said. “We continue tomorrow.”
He turned and left without another word.
Syl remained where he was, breathing slowly, pain radiating through his ribs.
Failure sat heavier than blood.
꧁༺༒〖°**°〗༒༻꧂
The water shimmered faintly as Syl lowered himself into the healing pool, fully naked, badly bruised.
It was warm, not comforting, but precise. Living. The Thryssan chambers breathed softly around him, vines and crystalline veins tracing the walls, glowing in response to his presence.
Sylvara lor’Thryssan stood beside him, hands glowing as she guided the restorative energy through his wounds.
“This will hurt,” she said gently.
“I know,” Syl replied.
Across the pool, Serys watched.
She smiled when Syl glanced at her. It was convincing. Practiced. A smile perfected over decades of ruling beside a man who carried the weight of worlds.
“You fought well,” she said.
“I lost,” Syl answered.
She tilted her head. “You learned.”
Pain flared suddenly through his side.
Syl sucked in a breath, muscles tensing as instinct urged him to fight it.
“Easy,” Serys said, stepping closer. “Remember.”
She met his eyes.
“Together.”
Syl closed his eyes.
“Together,” he whispered, forcing his breathing to slow. “In stillness, strength. In patience, clarity.”
The pain receded.
Serys exhaled softly, relief slipping through the cracks of her composure.
“You sound like your father,” Sylvara said with a faint smile.
Syl opened his eyes. “Just as I want it.”
Serys said nothing, but her hand rested briefly on his shoulder.
꧁༺༒〖°**°〗༒༻꧂
The Hall of Houses was never quiet.
Even in silence, it carried tension.
The heads of the five Houses stood assembled, their presence bending the air itself. Energy hummed beneath polished stone, ancient mechanisms listening, recording.
Vaelen’Seraxis, the lord of the house of Seraxis, entered last.
The room stilled.
He did not demand attention. He commanded it by existing.
“The situation on Earth worsens,” Vaelen said once the doors sealed. “Metahuman conflict escalates. Faith hardens into weaponry. The prophecy spreads faster than reason.”
The lord of Norzath speaks up. "We didn't forge the prophecy. And humans have always been victims to birthing things they later dread."
“We believe,” Vaelen enters sharply, “that the one foretold exists in the house of Thryssan.”
A ripple moved through the chamber.
“A test will be held by the Talrynn,” he said. “But they require territory.”
His gaze shifted.
“Zorvak’Kravikx.”
The Kravikx lord stiffened.
Vaelen’s words were calm. The pressure was not.
“For the greater good,” Vaelen said, “you will cede the land.”
"That's nonsense," Zorvak lashes.
"Watch your tone, Zorvak," the lord of Talrynn interrupts. "Need you a reminder who you're speaking to?"
Vaelen continues, "I wish this was up for a debate, but we're running out of time. Cede your land, Zorvak."
Zorvak looks around, all eyes on him, cold stares. He agrees.
Cornered.
Moments later, deep within Kravikx territory—
Rhykkal’Kravikx, long dark hair, long earrings, pale skin, storms toward his father’s chamber.
A guard steps forward, "Your highness, please step-"
Rhykkal slits his throat and enters his father's chamber.
“You bowed,” he snarled. "I ought to pay that prick a visit."
Zorvak looked frail. Smaller than he used to. He's sick.
“I am buying time,” Zorvak said. “Soon—”
Rhykkal shuts him up, eyes burning.
“Excuses! You dare compromise knowing what I'd do to weak family.” he said. “Do not let this happen again... or I'll drown you in your own blood... father”
Zorvak says nothing, knowing he means what he says.
Rhykkal turned away. Point proven.
꧁༺༒〖°**°〗༒༻꧂
The Library of Talrynn felt endless.
Syl traced the pages with reverence, absorbing images of Earth, cities stacked toward the sky, oceans choked with vessels, wars waged in minutes instead of centuries.
“They age faster,” Lor’Talrynn explained. “Their bodies burn brighter.”
Syl looked up. “Do they suffer more?”
Lor’Talrynn hesitated.
“Yes.”
The doors opened.
Lirael vel’Thryssan entered.
Light seemed to follow him.
Syl stood without realizing he had.
Awe tightened his chest.
This was him.
The one meant to save a world.
"Would you excuse us, Syl?" Lor'Talrynn asks.
Syl excused himself quietly.
꧁༺༒〖°**°〗༒༻꧂
Night fell.
Vaelen and Syl stood on the palace balcony, Caeloryx stretching endlessly beneath them.
“To build something better,” Vaelen said, “you must tear down what came before... and that brings enemies. Earth isn't what it used to be. They need our help.”
"Lirael vel'Thryssan?" Syl asks. "I met him at the library. Is he really the savior?"
"We'll find out tomorrow," Vaelen answers. "And it's up to us to help him fulfill this prophecy."
Syl pauses, the question lingering...
"Why do care so much for another planet that's not even ours?"
"Being a Seraxis is more than being a ruler," Vaelen answers. "My father taught me, and his father did to him, and his father did the same. We're protectors. There is no call we do not answer. There is no trouble we abandon."
Syl can't contain his smile.
“I’m... I'm proud of you, dad,” Syl said. “I want to be just like you.”
Vaelen smiled.
“That wouldn't be necessary,” he said gently. “I just want you to be my son.”
The twin suns dipped lower as Vaelen shares the moment with his son.
- Writer
