Sunrise had arrived, and the Zoronion people were loading the final pieces onto their ships. The general watched from the front of his home until the last passenger boarded. He turned on his heel toward the house before calling out to his wife.

  “My love, the ships are ready!” he shouted.

  Keylah took a deep breath, her eyes wandering around the room. She had spoken positively about the need for change—a necessity to keep their people alive—but as her hands gently brushed against the walls on her way to the entrance, the weight of the decision finally hit her. She was never going to see her home again.

  She paused for a moment before opening the door, wiping away the few tears that trickled down her face and sniffing to pull back the snot that had made its way down.

  She couldn’t express sadness—not in this moment, not when the general had doubts of his own. She knew that if he saw her like this, there would be no chance they would leave. Her lungs filled, her shoulders rose as she drew a steadying breath, then slowly released it before grasping the knob, twisting it, and pushing the door open.

  As she stepped out, her foot landed gently in the warm orange-and-black soil. For a breath, she stood still, taking in the last time her body would be able to connect with the ground beneath which her ancestors rested. Then she simply smiled, as if everything was okay.

  A soft breeze swept across the village, carrying the faint murmur of farewell voices. The Zoronion citizens watched as General Kantaos signaled for the ships to depart. Their hearts broke as loved ones, friends, and neighbors left for greener pastures. Yet hope still lingered among those who remained—hope that La Mort would spare them and their lands, and maybe, just maybe, one day their people would be reunited once more.

  “It’s time, my love,” General Kantaos said, his voice a blend of sadness and optimism. “Our new life awaits us.” He extended his hand toward Keylah.

  Keylah clasped his hand and smiled as she looked into his eyes. But as they turned to walk toward their ship, a villager stepped out from the crowd.

  “General Kantaos!” he called as he moved forward.

  The general and Keylah turned immediately, noticing the young man approaching. They stopped in their tracks.

  “I just wanted to say… there are no hard feelings from us that you’re choosing to leave Zoron,” the boy said, his voice shaking. “You’ve given more to this planet than any of us could ever ask. Without you, my family and I wouldn’t be here today. I just had to come and thank you before you left, because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t.”

  The boy began to tremble, his heart slamming against his ribs. Then he did something he never thought he would—he extended his hand toward his leader. But his nerves were misplaced. General Kantaos stepped forward, grasped the boy’s hand, and without hesitation pulled him into a hug.

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  The general looked down at the boy and, for a fleeting moment, saw himself in his father’s arms. His lips curved into a broad, genuine smile.

  “No—thank you,” he said softly before continuing. “It’s people like you who are the reason I took the role of leader of Zoron—to make an impact, to change the next generation. And you’ve shown me it all wasn’t in vain.”

  The people may have clung on to hope on Zoron, but in the darkness above, that echo of hope fell upon deaf ears.

  “We wait on your command, sire,” said one of the soldiers, ready for La Mort to make his move.

  But La Mort did not respond. He sat there, staring out at Zoron, void of emotion or expression. It was as if he was no longer in the same world as those aboard his mothership.

  A deep vum… vum… vum—the steady beat of the engines—was the only sound breaking the uneasy silence that surrounded them.

  Then he saw it. They all did. Hundreds of small ships lifted from the surface of Zoron, just as La Mort had predicted.

  “Look, boy.” La Mort gestured to Ezra, sitting smug in his seat. “Look—look at them. My instincts are never wrong, boy. As king, you must see your enemies’ moves two steps ahead.”

  Ezra shot to his feet and rushed to the window, his hand pressing against the glass as his eyes widened in horror.

  “No! Turn back!” he screamed, his voice breaking. “Please—turn back…” His words fell to a whisper. “You’re all going to die.”

  His body trembled. His breath came sharp and shallow as he sank to his knees, heart aching. He knew what was about to happen next.

  “Men!” La Mort shouted, drawing the attention of Caine and every soldier on board. “They’re fleeing—fleeing from their obligations to their king. They commit treason!”

  He turned his head toward Ezra. “And you wanted me to show them mercy?” His tone curled into a sneer. “If I had, they’d be long gone by now, boy, and I’d be the laughingstock of the galaxy. The mighty La Mort, outsmarted by Zoronians—they’d have called me weak. But no matter. What was once hope—their last chance at salvation—will become their end.”

  Without hesitation, he turned to his soldiers. “Fire at once.”

  “Yes, sire. Targets locked.”

  “No!” Ezra cried, charging toward them, but it was too late.

  The blast cannons released their fury. Beams tore through the sky—it was as if time itself slowed. The people aboard those ships—families, friends, loved ones—sat smiling, laughing, hope still in their hearts, until it was broken. Faces twisted in horror. Tears replaced laughter. Some froze in disbelief, others held hands in their final moments, and a few closed their eyes, accepting what was to come.

  Then those few seconds that had felt like a lifetime snapped back into reality. The blasts tore through the ships, tearing them apart in bursts of fire and light.

  On the ground, the general and his wife ran hand in hand toward their vessel—laughing, smiling, love in their eyes—but that laughter was quickly silenced as debris rained down like fire, crashing toward planet Zoron below.

  The general’s hand rose to his mouth in shock. Keylah dropped to her knees, tears spilling down her face as the sky above burned red.

  Panic erupted. Screams filled the air. The heavens glowed with wreckage and black smoke. The Zoronion people scattered as flaming debris rained around them, shouting, “La Mort! He’s here! La Mort!”

  Buildings collapsed, homes shattered, and the air grew heavy with sorrow and loss.

  War had come to Zoron. Half their people were gone in the blink of an eye, and once again, the general found himself searching for answers—searching for any way to survive what came next.