Venus didn't look like a war zone, which made the blood feel colder. The throne room was huge, made of dark, smooth obsidian, and it was too quiet. Hana stood there, ten years old, her bare feet sticking slightly to the floor. The air was thick with the metallic scent of fresh blood.
Her mother was gone. Slumped over the main crystal platform, her head tilted back, eyes wide and dead. Her father lay a few steps away. The gold plating of his armor was ripped open like paper, his spear shattered. Hana's hands were small, but they were soaked in their parents' lives.
Kata, Hana's older sister, stood in the middle of it all. She looked calm. Her long, silver hair, usually messy, was pulled into a tight braid. Her robes were clean, aside from a few splashes near the cuffs. She looked like she had just finished a casual morning meeting.
"You… you actually killed them," Hana whispered. Her voice wasn't shaking, but it was thin, like a wire pulled too tight.
Kata turned slowly. Her eyes were empty, flat. "Don't be dramatic, Hana."
"Dramatic?" Hana's throat tightened. "You stabbed Dad in the chest! Mom is frozen solid! It was a massacre, not a debate!"
"It wasn't supposed to be that messy," Kata replied, sounding annoyed by the clean-up. "He resisted the necessary transition. He chose politics over power."
Hana stared at her sister, searching for the person who used to teach her how to fly the palace drones. "I don't understand."
"It's simple," Kata said, taking a slow step forward. "They loved peace more than they loved survival. They trusted treaties with weaker planets. That's not love, Hana. That's weakness."
A small security drone floated into the hall, its sensor light flashing red. Kata didn't even look at it. She just raised one finger. The drone instantly shorted out and fell, hitting the obsidian floor with a hollow clang. Smoke curled from its broken core.
"They were obstacles," Kata continued, letting her arm drop. "I removed them so Venus could live."
Hana felt a wave of cold hate wash over the terror. "You were kind once."
"I was patient once," Kata countered. She walked right up to Hana, her movements slow and deliberate. She crouched down, bringing her face close. Hana refused to flinch.
"You're soft, Hana, but you're not stupid," Kata said, her voice dropping, almost a purr. She raised her sleeve and wiped a spot of blood from Hana's cheek. The gesture felt more violent than a punch. "I'm sending you away. Not to kill you, but to save my own time."
Hana just watched her, fists clenched tight enough to hurt.
"Here are the rules," Kata continued, leaning in close. "If you ever return to this planet—if you come back with tears, or with rage, or with some heroic idea of justice—I will finish the job myself. No warning, no ceremony. Do you understand what I'm saying? You cease to exist the moment you cross that border again."
Hana swallowed the metallic taste of blood and held her sister's stare. "Yes," she whispered, the single word sharp and steady. She didn't cry. She wouldn't give Kata the satisfaction of seeing her break.
"Good." Kata stood up, brushing off her robes. "Then we'll keep this clean."
The guards came immediately. They weren't regular soldiers; they were Kata's personal detail, all obsidian armor and emotionless white helmets shaped like silent masks. They didn't shout or struggle. They simply walked her out of the throne room. It was the quiet efficiency of the betrayal that stung the most.
As they loaded her into a small, coffin-like escape pod in the launch bay, Hana finally spoke to the nearest guard.
"So that's it? I'm just an exile now?"
The guard paused, his masked face tilted. "You are an unregistered asset, Princess. No longer of Venus."
The hatch hissed and sealed. The inside of the pod was narrow and freezing cold. The restraints clicked into place. Hana was alone.
Don't you dare cry. Don't you dare break, she commanded herself.
The pod's automated voice chirped near her ear. "Passenger registered: Princess Hana of Venus. Vital signs low. Blood traces detected. Emergency launch initiated."
"Stop the launch," Hana whispered, pressing her fingers against the cold metal seat. "Override protocol."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," the AI replied, its voice sickeningly gentle. "Manual override has been disabled by Central Command."
Kata had planned every single detail.
Hana stared at the dark ceiling. The plasma drives began a low, painful hum beneath her. The countdown started.
10... 9... 8...
She had no control, no power, just raw, blinding hate. She focused on the hate. It was the only thing that felt warm.
7... 6... 5...
"Computer," Hana said, her voice gaining a thread of ice-cold curiosity. "What is the chance of survival for this pod, traveling from Venus to Earth, given the current sabotage level?"
The AI paused. It seemed to take an impossibly long time to calculate the odds of her death.
"Probability of safe arrival: 2.7%."
Hana gave a short, humorless laugh. "Good. I'll take it."
4... 3... 2...
The launch was a violent jolt. The pod shot away from the silent, shining capital of Venus and plunged into the void.
The journey was a blur of darkness and freezing cold. The coolant system failed. The oxygen tube hissed continuously. The interior lights flickered and died. Hana had no food, no water, and only the relentless, pounding ache in her head. She refused to lose consciousness completely. She stayed awake, running through the same few memories: the smell of the blood, the sight of Kata's empty eyes, the promise of vengeance. The hate kept her alive when everything else failed.
When she woke one final time, the pod was shaking so violently the metal screamed. Alarms blared everywhere.
"Atmospheric breach detected. Hull integrity compromised. Brace for impact."
Hana looked up at the ceiling, which was already melting from the heat of Earth's atmosphere. She smiled, a faint, twisted expression.
"You lose, Kata," she whispered.
The impact was a massive, bone-jarring catastrophe that shattered rock and tore the pod apart.
Queen Emica arrived at the crash site with her heavily armored Elite guards. The queen's armor was white-gold, already scarred from battle. Beside her was King Hiroshi, kneeling carefully beside the shredded pod.
The hatch finally peeled open, hissing steam.
Inside was a girl, barely conscious, her face streaked with dried blood. She had bright blonde hair, but the sheer, untamed rage burning in her eyes made them glow magenta.
Emica let out a breath, a cloud of cold air. "She's alive. How is that possible?"
"She survived all that," Hiroshi said, stunned. "The pod is unregistered. What is her classification, Emica?"
"Unregistered, no Earth-tag," the Queen confirmed, her own eyes narrowing in intense analysis. "But she has a sync trace. A major energy signature."
"What is she synced to?" Hiroshi pressed.
Emica didn't answer right away. She looked past the wreck, toward the vast, protected Tato Fruit gardens in the distance. "We will find out," she said.
She crouched down by the wreckage, her voice softening just a fraction.
"Welcome to Earth, little one. Your life of fighting starts now."