The soft light of morning seeped into the high windows of the island's library, casting long shadows across the towering rows of books. Zinco sat alone in the far corner, eyes gliding over the ancient script of a thick volume. His expression was unreadable—thoughtful, focused, with something storming beneath the surface. The silence of the library wrapped around him like a cloak until, without a word, he stood, closed the book, and returned it to its place.
As he stepped into the sun-drenched corridor leading to his chamber, his attention was caught by distant grunts and the sound of wood clashing against wood. Just beyond the marble arches, in the training ground not far from the Founders' Palace, Aaron was sparring with two other boys, sweat glistening on their skin, determination in their movements.
Zinco paused, watching them silently. That's when Tamar appeared beside him.
"Going to the training ground?" she asked with a smirk, adjusting the gloves on her hands. "I'm heading there too. There's a game coming up, and I don't plan to sit on the bench."
Zinco nodded, and they walked together.
The training ground was alive with youthful energy. Two girls stood watching from the sidelines, chatting and occasionally laughing at the boys' flubs and flourishes. One of them, agile and bold, soon joined in, picking up a staff from the weapons table.
Tamar split from Zinco and approached the weapons table, testing the weight of a shortblade. Zinco stood quietly, his gaze still on the sparring boys.
Aaron noticed him. "You watching or joining?" he called out, panting from the effort of his recent bout.
"I'm good," Zinco replied, calm but distant.
One of the boys snorted. "Figures. The blood of zinc doesn't like to sweat."
Laughter followed. "Seven hundred years to be born and still afraid of a little bruise," another boy said. "Must be that evil blood from his mother."
Zinco stiffened. His hand curled into a fist.
Tamar moved quickly. "Enough," she said, her voice sharp. "This isn't a fight pit."
But the words lingered, cutting deeper than anyone saw. Zinco looked past Tamar, eyes locked on the boys. "Give me a weapon," he said quietly.
"Zinco, don't—" Tamar tried, but he walked past her.
He picked a practice blade from the rack. The boys grinned and closed in.
At first, Zinco struggled. His footing was unbalanced, and their strikes landed with ease. One of the boys laughed. "I've seen Toys fight better."
But then something shifted. A heat surged through him, and his eyes shimmered—a brilliant light pulsing in their depths. He began to move differently, faster, calculating. One by one, he disarmed them, striking precise blows to joints and pressure points. In moments, two boys were on the ground, gasping in surprise.
He didn't lay a finger on Aaron.
Silence fell.
A voice broke through, echoing from the top of the storage tower.
"Well done... for a spoiled blood."
They all turned.
David stood there, older, taller. His right hand and leg glinted gold in the sunlight—reforged, powerful.
He descended the steps with calm authority.
"To carry the blood of a Founder," David said, "is not to wield power, but responsibility. You fight not just for pride—but for your people."
He glanced at the boys. "Mocking a Founder's child—how low must you be to prove your strength?"
Then he turned to Zinco. "You have strength. But you lack training. Come with me—"
"No," Zinco said coldly, eyes still burning. "I don't need you."
And with that, he turned and walked away. Tamar called after him, running to catch up. But as she reached the gates, he stopped and raised a hand.
"Don't follow me."
He left her standing there, confused and hurt.
---
Mariah's chamber glowed in a mellow hue, the silk curtains pulled gently by the warm breeze flowing in through the open windows. The scent of wild blossoms and sea salt filled the air. The hush of the palace seemed far away, replaced by the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of birds outside.
Mariah sat on a cushioned bench near the open window, her long hair cascading over her shoulder, her eyes distant—haunted.
There was a soft knock on the door.
Without turning, she said softly, "You never knock."
The door creaked open, and Rex stepped in, a half-smile on his face. "Old habits die reluctantly."
"You're late," she said, still not looking at him.
"I wasn't sure you'd want to see me."
"I always want to see you," she replied, finally turning her gaze toward him. "But sometimes I don't know what you'll bring with you."
Rex approached and took a seat beside her. "Memories, mostly. And trouble. I'm very good at both."
Mariah gave a small laugh, weary but genuine. "You always were."
There was a long pause between them. The breeze shifted slightly.
"She's quieter lately," Rex said, looking around her room.
"Mother?" Mariah asked.
He nodded.
"She's deeper now… more ancient," Mariah whispered. "Sometimes I feel her stir inside me when I sleep. Sometimes I hear her voice in Zinco's."
Rex frowned. "He's changing."
"Yes," she said, eyes cast down. "He's not just my son. He's… something else. A reflection. A warning. A seed."
"A seed of what?"
"I don't know yet," she replied honestly.
They sat in silence again, the weight of unspoken centuries filling the space between them.
Rex leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Do you remember the citadel at Ketheron's peak? Where father used to take us when storms rolled in?"
Mariah smiled faintly. "Of course. I remember you and Maingan daring each other to climb the lightning spires."
"And you always winning."
"I never climbed."
"No," Rex smirked. "You just made the spire bend to you."
They both chuckled.
"I miss that time," Mariah said after a pause. "Before Eden. Before the Fruit. Before betrayal, and blood, and exile."
"So do I," Rex replied softly. "That's why I came."
Mariah's expression darkened. "You want to go."
Rex nodded.
"To him," she said, voice low. "To Father."
"Yes."
"Why?" she asked. "Why now?"
"Because it's time," he said. "Because Zinco is here. Because the family is splintered. And because every time I walk the island, I hear whispers of the past chasing me. I've fought wars, raised nations, watched my children become strangers, watched them die, and every time I look at this world, I wonder what he would say—what he would do."
"He told us not to find him," she reminded him. "He made that decision for us."
"And we were children when he said it," Rex replied. "We were still licking the wounds Queen Spanida caused. He was locked away, by her but he didn't erase his blood. It still runs through me. Through you. Through Zinco."
"You want answers."
"I want him," Rex said, voice firmer now. "Not the myth. Not the god. Not the imprisoned king. I want our father."
Mariah turned away, eyes glinting with restrained emotion. "What if he doesn't remember us? What if what's behind that barrier is no longer Ketheral VII?"
"Then I'll mourn him properly," Rex whispered. "Not with silence. But with truth."
Mariah stood, walking to the window. "He saw what none of us did. He saw what our family could become. What we still are. That's why he let himself to be locked away—because he knew he couldn't stop it, not without becoming something darker."
Rex stood too, now pacing. "And we've done what, since then? Played gods to mortals? Tried to build worlds from ash? I've watched the Edenites turn on each other. I've seen them worship us, hate us, forget us."
"We're not forgotten."
"We are," Rex said, bitterly. "Even the descendants I fought for don't remember who we are. They remember power, not the family. Not the love. Not the blood that bound us."
Mariah turned to him, her voice cracking. "Do you think I don't feel that? Every day I carry the—the pain—in me. I carry Zinco, born in war, in exile, in silence. I carry a thousand years of solitude. And still… still I wait."
Rex stepped closer. "Then let me do this—for you, for him, for all of us. Let me find him."
"What if he's dangerous?"
"I've faced worse."
"What if he hates us?"
"Then I'll beg," Rex said. "I'll kneel. I'll remind him who we were before the world twisted us."
Mariah's breath trembled. "And if he asks for my child?"
Rex's face softened. "Then he won't get him. I promise you that."
Her eyes filled. "You always make promises you can't keep."
"I kept one," he whispered. "I came back. I found you again."
She broke then, arms around him, voice muffled against his shoulder. "Don't leave me."
"I have to," Rex said, holding her tightly. "But I'll come back. And next time… I'll bring him with me. We'll be whole again."
They stood like that, still as stone, hearts heavy with memory, while outside the winds carried the scent of the sea and the fading echoes of a family that once ruled the stars.
---