And there we were—inside an Imperial spaceship, captured by the Empire’s space guards. All hands cuffed. No one spoke during the entire journey.

  The ship breached Earth’s atmosphere with a gentle glide, trembling like a paper plane caught in the re-entry burn. Then it leveled out and cruised smoothly, more like a jumbo jet slicing through the sky.

  Silence pressed in. My mind kept circling the same bitter question: Why do I always get betrayed?

  I glanced at Gina. She stared at the floor, blinking slowly, lost. I think we were both thinking the same thing.

  As we passed over the seas, I looked out the window. The Imperial fleet still hung in formation, watchful. Then I saw it—the St. Francis' Revenge. But it wasn’t ours anymore. The ship now wore Imperial insignia and cobalt-blue paint. Its mast flew the Empire’s colors.

  I felt nothing. I didn’t even care. Exhaustion had hollowed me out. If they were going to kill me, so be it. At least Gina was with me. At least, maybe, in some afterlife I’d see Faye again. I just wanted it over. I was tired—bone-deep tired—of being used, of being betrayed again and again.

  We touched down on the Revenge’s landing dock. The guards yanked us upright and marched us out. There they stood: Tony, Malone, that rat bastard Harvey… and my own brother.

  All of them now dressed in crisp Imperial blue.

  The Dead Men Corps matte-black gear was gone, replaced by the Empire’s cobalt.

  They stared as we passed down the center aisle. Gina and I kept our heads down. I couldn’t look at them anymore. Like I said—I was too tired.

  The guards holding Gina stopped and passed her to Jerry. My escorts kept moving, dragging me forward.

  We climbed from the dock to the upper deck, then out to the stern. There he was—Marcus—sitting in his wheelchair, gazing at the restless waves and the Imperial fleet beyond. The wind played across his face.

  The guards guided me right up to him, then uncuffed me.

  “As you ordered, Your Majesty,” one said to Marcus. They retreated at least five meters.

  Marcus gave a small nod. He tilted his head back, staring at the gray, unbroken sky—the permanent scar left by World War III.

  “Do you still remember the sky, Cho? Before the war?” he asked, turning toward me.

  “Yes,” I answered quietly. “It was blue. One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

  He smiled faintly. “And the grass? The trees? The flowers?”

  “Yes.”

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  Marcus’s smile deepened. “Do you want to see it again, Cho?”

  “Yes,” I said, almost automatically. “I want to see it again.”

  The breeze lifted his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it.

  “So this is your plan?” I muttered. “I should’ve known before I took the deal.”

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “So Faye was just collateral damage to you,” I went on, voice low and steady despite the frustration burning underneath. “You used her to kill Arthur Jr. so you could be next in line.”

  Marcus remained calm. “Apparently she planned it from the start. She told me every disgusting things Arthur Jr. had done to her. I even offered to kill him myself—but she insisted on doing it. As for the throne? That was James and Ella’s scheme, not mine. I just… let it happen. Honestly, they’re the ones who provoked Faye. Not me.”

  “What?” I stared at him.

  Then I noticed something strange—his foot twitched.

  Before I could speak, an Imperial shuttle settled onto the Revenge. Moments later the Emperor himself appeared, striding toward the stern with Jerry and a squad of guards. Tall, silver-gray hair, jeweled sash, silver silk cape, and a crown of gold-plated platinum olive leaves. The man I once admired without question.

  He passed me without a glance. I kept my head down. He walked straight to Marcus.

  “Good afternoon, Emperor, my dear uncle,” Marcus greeted.

  “Ah, my dear nephew. My one true heir.” Arthur patted his head like one might pat a favored dog.

  “You remember Captain Sanchez?” Marcus gestured toward me. “He’s the one who did it.”

  “Who could forget him?” Arthur approached, placed gloved hands on my shoulders, and smiled down at me. “You know, boy, I never expected you to still be alive. Marcus always said you were slippery. But he promised he could use you—and look.” He laughed. “The Union fell without a single ion blast. Thank you, boy, for your courage… and for releasing the chimeras. You destroyed them with their own hideous abomination.”

  His smile twisted. “But I still have to execute you for killing my beloved niece Faye—who, in turn, killed my worthless son. Now, Marcus, my crown prince—this should be a celebration, right? Once again, the Empire controls everything on Earth.”

  Marcus smiled behind him. “Of course, uncle.”

  He reached into a compartment on his chair and produced a bottle of vintage sparkling wine and two glasses.

  Arthur greedily snatched the bottle, popped the cork with a laugh, and raised it high.

  “For the Empire! For me!”

  He took a long swig straight from the bottle, shook it until foam erupted, and laughed again—maniacal, unhinged.

  Watching him, I realized this wasn’t the Arthur I’d once followed with devotion. This man was mad. My fist clenched. I wanted to tackle him, to drive my knuckles into that laughing face.

  But just as I tensed to lunge, Marcus rolled closer and gently caught my hand. I looked down. He shook his head once. Just wait.

  Suddenly Arthur’s laughter choked off. The bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered. He dropped to his knees, clawing at his throat, gasping. His tongue protruded; his eyes bulged. He pointed at Marcus, trying to speak, but only wet sounds came out. Then he collapsed, limbs twitching, paralyzed.

  And out of nowhere. A green flash—like the one that had swept the Earth when the pod struck—erupted across the horizon. The wave rolled over the Revenge and the entire fleet. Every ship shuddered as the emerald light passed through.

  Arthur writhed, struggling to move, shaking as though fighting to regain control of his own body.

  And then—slowly, deliberately—Marcus stood up from the wheelchair.

  He combed his long, curly hair back with one hand and walked to the fallen Emperor. He looked down at him.

  “Well now, uncle,” Marcus said softly, “I think the Earth needs another new beginning.”

  He turned to me, that familiar grin spreading across his face.

  “What do you think, Cho?”

  For once, nothing came out of my mouth.

  I just stood there, stunned, unable to believe what I was seeing.