Chapter 58 Lost Things
Dawn seeped slowly across the mine pits.
Old K67 was already awake.
He always began before the light reached the ground.
He always had.
K67 was human.
He did not know that.
He only knew he was not like the floating overseers — translucent, jellyfish-like forms drifting above the pits with humming laser carbines. Anyone with eyes could see the difference.
Here, humans were not a people.
They were tools.
They possessed no names — only numbers.
They did not know they were slaves, for from birth they labored in darkness, carving ore for masters they never questioned. Occasionally someone was taken away.
No one returned.
In their understanding, human existence served a single purpose:
to work until death.
Their eyes held no hope.
No dignity.
No longing.
They had never learned such things existed.
K67 was very old.
His spine curved like crushed wire. Wisps of white clung to his scalp. His hands trembled even when still.
He often thought:
A few more dawns, and I will die. Then I will be free.
That would have been his end.
If he had not found the child.
The Child in the Mine
It lay within a shattered incubation capsule, half-buried beneath slag and fractured rock.
A narrow beam of light pierced the cracked casing and illuminated the infant's face.
K67 fell to his knees.
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Others gathered.
Some laughed.
Some wept.
Some raised prayers to gods who had never answered them.
This child, they believed, was different.
A sign.
A deliverance.
They named him Mordecai Threxion, after the light that touched his face.
From that day onward, K67 swore to protect him — even at the cost of his own life.
A Child Who Grew Too Fast
Mordecai Threxion grew at an impossible rate.
Within days, he possessed the strength of a grown laborer.
Within weeks, he comprehended machinery the slaves had never been taught to understand.
He improved excavation tools.
Reinforced collapsing supports.
Devised safety methods that reduced fatalities.
The slaves whispered:
He had been sent to save them.
Yet he possessed no designation code.
He did not exist in the overseers' ledgers.
If discovered, every slave involved would be executed.
So they hid him.
Shielded him.
Lied for him.
Bled for him.
The Cost of Secrecy
"Grandfather… Uncle G55 and the others…"
"They're dead."
The young Mordecai Threxion fell silent.
To conceal evidence of his existence, the slaves had destroyed an entire mining outpost.
More than a dozen died ensuring his survival.
K67 seized his shoulders, his face twisted by desperate fervor.
"Their deaths do not matter! As long as you live!"
His voice trembled toward madness.
"You must save us… you must…"
He bowed his head and wept.
Everyone believed the same thing.
Mordecai Threxion was their salvation.
Some, broken by suffering, even whispered that his flesh might contain divine power — that consuming it could grant freedom.
Compared to them, the old man remained sane.
And Mordecai Threxion?
He accepted their faith.
Accepted their expectations.
Accepted the burden.
He believed he owed them freedom.
Even if it cost him his life.
The Uprising
Under his guidance, the slaves formed hidden networks.
Tools became weapons.
Whispers became plans.
Hope became rebellion.
One night, they rose.
They slaughtered overseers.
Seized weapons.
Thousands marched toward a world they had never seen.
The counterattack came swiftly.
Elite enforcers descended from orbit.
Mordecai Threxion adapted instantly.
He led them into the city, turning streets into killing corridors.
Ambushes. Diversions. Sudden strikes.
Victory required eliminating the command authority directing the suppression.
Despite mounting losses, they advanced.
Freedom lay just ahead.
Betrayal
It came without warning.
Silent. Sudden. Irreversible.
Allies turned their weapons on comrades.
Confusion became slaughter.
Men who had fought side by side moments earlier died with disbelief frozen on their faces.
By the time the truth reached Mordecai Threxion, traitors had encircled him.
More enemy forces closed in.
They were going to die.
All of them.
For a fleeting instant, Mordecai Threxion felt clarity.
Even relief.
Then the cries began.
"Why?!"
"Why did we fail?!"
"We were so close!"
"Lord Mordecai Threxion — why?!"
Men collapsed before him.
Crawling.
Begging.
"You can save us… right?"
"…I…"
"Save us… save us…"
The Machine
He saw the device.
A teleportation engine.
Alien.
Unfamiliar.
He could understand every machine in the mines at a glance.
This one resisted comprehension.
He chose to gamble.
He had no choice.
Gunfire erupted.
Men turned on one another in despair and rage.
Traitors and loyalists became indistinguishable.
Mordecai Threxion saw nothing now.
Only the machine.
"Mordecai!" K67 shouted.
The roof glowed under incoming bombardment.
Enemy forces breached the defenses.
Mordecai Threxion succeeded.
A pulse of light signaled activation.
No one noticed.
They were too busy dying.
K67 staggered toward him, bleeding heavily.
"Grandfather, I did it. It can transport one person. Go."
"What about you?"
"I'll follow."
He lied.
The device held power for a single use.
Escape offered hope.
Staying meant certain death.
The old man smiled.
Blood slipped from his lips.
Tears carved clean paths through the grime on his face.
He shook his head.
Mordecai Threxion never heard what he said next.
Artillery shattered the roof.
Thunder swallowed the world.
Then—
the old man raised a pistol.
And fired.
Exile
Mordecai Threxion was the only one who escaped.
He felt like a stray creature cast into the void.
Voices whispered during transit.
He ignored them.
Grief filled everything.
He emerged into darkness.
Wet soil beneath his hands.
The scent of trees.
An open night sky above.
Only then did he begin to cry.
The Forest
He rose and followed the scent of blood.
A winged tiger tore into a crying child.
The boy, no older than seven, lay wrapped in filthy rags. His body was torn open, organs exposed.
Mordecai Threxion killed the beast.
He tried to speak.
They shared no language.
Still, he remained.
He protected the boy.
Eventually they found other humans.
The child received a name.
Xuan.
From that moment began the rise of the future ruler of Domus.
But Mordecai Threxion never forgot.
In his dreams he still sees them:
faces twisted between hope and agony,
hands reaching through smoke and fire,
voices whispering:
Save me.
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