Chapter Text
Tamaran. The eighth planet in the Vega system, located 26 light-years from Earth. It was home to several billion humanoid beings known as Tamaraneans—a home that, were a Tamaranean asked to choose a place on Earth resembling their own world, they would likely liken to the biblical Garden of Eden. The most important location was Tamarus, the planet's capital and the seat of the Grand Ruler. The Grand Ruler hailed from the House of Tykayl. This lineage was unique, as its members possessed the ability to release energy from their hands. These so-called "Starbolts" were regarded by the Tamaraneans as the supreme gift from X'hal, and those who wielded them were seen as demigods.
The Grand Ruler of Tamaran held nearly absolute power. I say "nearly" because full authority was granted only after the ruler had lived for twenty years and undergone a specific transformation. Until then, power was exercised on their behalf by the Council of Tamaran, a body of twelve councilors drawn from two distinct groups. Half were the most influential aristocrats and feudal lords, while the other half consisted of the highest-ranking and most distinguished military commanders—who, incidentally, were also aristocrats. Furthermore, the Council was tasked with preparing the young heir—whether male or female—to govern the planet. Once the heir met the requirements to ascend the throne, the Council shifted to an advisory role. The Grand Ruler could consider their opinions, but ultimately, the final decision rested with the ruler alone.
Tamaran operated under a feudal system. This meant that aristocratic families governed specific regions of the planet as kings and queens, yet all remained subordinate to the Grand Ruler, who was responsible for the fate of Tamaran as a whole.
For decades, Tamaran had been at war with the Citadel. The Citadel coveted all the planets of the Vega System, so naturally, they planned to subjugate Tamaran as well. However, this proved to be an incredibly daunting task. Tamaranian civilization was highly advanced, both culturally and technologically; they had transformed their planet into a tropical paradise worthy of their goddess, X'hal. Although the race had a reputation as fierce warriors, they had been pacifists prior to the war, viewing violence as an absolute last resort for resolving conflicts. Yet, this did not mean they had left their planet defenseless; they ensured their paradise could not be brutally destroyed. The planet was encased in a protective shield generated by a network of devices powered by the radiation of the blue-white star Vega. These generators converted the absorbed energy into the barrier surrounding Tamaran. Furthermore, the barrier's thickness fluctuated constantly according to strict military protocols, making it nearly impossible for the Citadel to detect and exploit any weak points. Most attacks launched by the Empire dissipated against the shield, leaving enemy ships able to do little more than orbit the planet. At the same time, Tamaran’s space fleet was extensively developed, ensuring that should the barrier ever weaken, the ships would be ready to shoot down enemy forces.
Furthermore, care was taken to ensure the Tamaraneans were well-trained. From a young age, every Tamaranean was taught flight control, hand-to-hand combat, and acrobatics; by the age of five, they were expected to fly with ease. At the same time, they were taught empathy so they would not become mindless brutes. In times of peace, these skills were utilized primarily during various ceremonies. However, the state of war with the Citadel required every Tamaranean to possess proper military training.
Additionally, children of the royal line and the most distinguished aristocratic families were sent—upon turning seven—to train under the Warlords of Okaara, the greatest martial arts masters in the Vega System. There, they underwent comprehensive training designed to mold them into great warriors.
These measures enabled Tamaran to successfully resist the Citadel for decades.
A year ago, however, the Citadel struck a deal with the Psions: technology in exchange for people. The Psions equipped the Citadel with their technology, and in return, the Citadel agreed to supply prisoners of war to serve as the Psions' test subjects. These prisoners were to be Tamaraneans. As beings who were intensely emotional and fundamentally pacifistic, they were highly sought after in the slave trade, for it was incredibly easy to compel them to obey—especially if they were properly restrained beforehand to prevent trouble. Yet, biologically speaking, they remained one of the most powerful races in the system—a fact they did not hesitate to exploit when free. Bolstered by technology from the Psions, the Citadel forces successfully breached Tamaran’s protective shield and landed on the planet. The Tamaranian fleet, though powerful, could not withstand the Citadel forces—now backed by the Psions. From there, they began their conquest of the planet. Within a year, the Empire had seized control of 60% of the planet's surface, leaving absolute devastation in its wake. It was confirmed that Citadel operations had resulted in the deaths of over 14 million Tamaranians, with another 30 million taken prisoner.
The palace in Tamarus had always been the most critical building on the planet; after all, it housed the seat of the High Ruler and was the site where the most important decisions regarding Tamaran were made. The council chamber was tense and crowded, reflecting the catastrophic defeats Tamaran was suffering at the hands of the Citadel. The conquest of the entire planet seemed inevitable; the war had to come to an end.
Those gathered—led by the Grand Ruler—were engaged in heated debate regarding the Tamaranian Army’s next moves against the vastly superior forces of the Empire, as well as the losses sustained and the prospects of reclaiming occupied territories. However, a sudden silence fell over the room when the screen in the chamber—along with the Tamaranians' mobile communicators—abruptly activated.
The image of a Citadelian appeared on every screen and hologram. Broad-shouldered, slimy, bald, and covered in blue scales, he looked as though he lacked a nose. He wore heavy armor—albeit richly ornamented—signaling his high status within Citadelian society. His smile was utterly repulsive; it would haunt the nightmares of Tamaranian children for months to come. The creature was so loathsome he would have sickened even Trigon the Terrible. He cleared his throat, emitting a disgusting growl that was instantly translated into the local tongue.
"Citizens of Tamaran. I am Lord Damyn, Dictator of the Citadel. This broadcast is appearing on every transmission device across Tamaran, and you must hear what I have to say. For a hundred years, we have wasted our resources on you because you refused to submit to your superiors. We have had enough of you and your planet. I therefore propose two options. The first is the total submission of Tamaran to the will of the Empire and the handing over of all the Grand Ruler's children."
Outraged murmurs rippled across Tamaran. It was no wonder; the children were demigods, the planet’s most sacred treasures. To surrender them would be like tearing out the planet's heart. Lord Damyn knew this well.
"You are likely all asking yourselves right now how I dare demand your children. You probably think I’ve lost my mind to imagine you would ever agree. That is why, before I present the second option, I am going to show you something. There were cities that refused to submit to us. Kysarr, Synomonn, Myrrynnian, Palamar—each of them had put up needless resistance against us."
Suddenly, the screen shifted from the image of Lord Damyn to views of Synomonn—or rather, what remained of it. It was a scene of utter ruin; the former city center was now a heap of rubble, and not a living soul was in sight. Then the feed switched to Palamar, where the scene was nearly identical. The transmission returned to Lord Damyn.
"Yes, we admit we had a great time capturing those cities, but we’ve grown bored. We have no desire to conquer the rest of the planet. That brings us to the alternative. If you reject our terms, we will bring about the total destruction of Tamaran. And I mean that literally—know that I am a man of the word. You have one week to accept this ultimatum; we are suspending hostilities for that duration."
A deathly silence fell over the hall—and beyond it. Virtually all of free Tamaran was torn by the dilemma. Accepting these terms would be humiliating, yet was that humiliation worth preserving the planet’s existence? Was handing over the Grand Ruler’s successors worth it? There were no good answers to these questions.
Galfore, one of Tamaran’s highest-ranking warriors and a council member, decided to voice his opinion on the matter.
"Grand Ruler, we cannot accept these ridiculous demands!"
"Galfore, know that I agree with you wholeheartedly, but are you truly prepared to sacrifice five billion Tamaraneans for the sake of three children? — asked Lunn, one of the aristocrats, pragmatically."
"These are no ordinary children," — Galfore replied. — "They are the direct heirs of X'hal, the most important Tamaraneans on this planet. The only ones worthy of the title of Grand Ruler in the future. They must be protected at all costs. We must send them out into space—as far away as possible. It matters not how; they must live free, far from the Citadel and the Psions."
"Can we not regroup and attempt to rescue the royal children later?" — asked Mollar, the second aristocrat.
"I fear that is impossible," interjected Finzer, the commander of Tamaran’s space fleet. "Bear in mind that the Psions and the Empire are sworn enemies. Yet, a year ago, they entered into a contract. In all likelihood, the Citadel is bound to hand the children over to them. We are all well aware of the stories regarding the Psions' cruel scientific experiments. The children would perish long before we were even ready to consider a date for a rescue mission."
"They have received no training whatsoever," added another councilor, Kalum. "The eldest, princess Komand'r, was due to be sent to Okaara this very year, but the invasion of our planet made that impossible. They will be utterly defenseless against the Psions and the Citadel forces. If we hand them over, we might as well bury them alive; the outcome would be the same."
"Grand Ruler, what do you intend to do?" Mollar turned to Myand'r, who at that moment was about to make the most difficult and consequential decision in the modern history of Tamaran. After all, the entire future of the planet rested on the decision regarding his children. And there were no good options.
"Finzer, what is the status of our space fleet? How many starships do we have left—not just warships?" he asked the councilor.
"Well, counting all types of vessels, we still have about three thousand ships at our disposal."
Myand’r fell into thought. Three thousand ships—undoubtedly a small number. Nevertheless, it would have to suffice.
"What do you plan to do, Great Ruler?" Mollar asked again. "You aren't going to hand the children over to the Citadel, are you?"
"No," Myand'r replied. "Finzer, ready every ship we have. Equip them with everything necessary for survival."
"But Grand Ruler, we couldn't possibly fit all the Tamaraneans onto our ships—not even if every single one were a replica of our largest one," Lunn pointed out.
"I know," Myand'r sighed. "You will evacuate as many as possible, starting with the most important and the wisest among us. You will take to the stars and establish a New Tamaran. This planet has no future. Surrendering our children would mean the downfall of our race. We cannot allow that to happen."
"And what about you, Grand Ruler?" Mollar asked anxiously.
"I shall remain here," Myand'r declared.
"With all due respect, Grand Ruler," Lunn said, "you just stated that the evacuation must begin with the most important and the wisest. There is no one on this planet more important than you right now. And we need a leader."
"I would not be worthy of the title of Grand Ruler if I fled to a ship, leaving Tamaran to its doom," Myand'r stated. "I will stay in Tamarus until the end. I will accept the consequences of rejecting the ultimatum."
"In that case, we shall stay too," Kalum declared, and several council members nodded in agreement.
"No, you are leaving," Myand'r commanded. "When there is no Grand Ruler, the Council holds authority. You will be needed out in space. All council members are required to evacuate."
Following this order, the protests ceased. The session concluded, and Tamarus began implementing the new plan: the evacuation of Tamaran.
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
Myand'r was mentally exhausted. He knew he didn't have much time left—barely a week—but he also knew he had to make the most of it. At the same time, his children could not find out that, in a week’s time, they would no longer have a father.
When he reached the family wing, Luand'r was waiting for him, just as he had expected. Naturally, she had seen Lord Damyn’s ultimatum, and the toll the situation was taking on her was evident. Myand'r could see his wife trying to maintain her composure and regal bearing, even though she was in despair deep down.
"Did the children see the broadcast?" was Myand’r’s first question.
"Yes," Luand’r sighed. "I was looking after them when my communicator activated. The children heard everything."
"How did they react?" he asked cautiously.
"Ryand’r didn’t react, while Koriand’r and Komand’r insisted on meeting the Citadel’s demands," she replied, visibly shaken.
Myand’r remained silent. He felt a certain pride that his children were willing to sacrifice themselves for the planet. It meant they would have made magnificent rulers. Yet, they were only four, six, and seven years old. Handing them over would mean signing their death warrants.
"Myand’r, do you intend to hand them over to the Citadel?" Luand’r asked.
"No," he denied. "They will be evacuated."
"But does that mean..."
"Yes," he confirmed. "I am going to evacuate Tamaran. I’ve ordered Finzer to ready every ship to take on as many Tamaranian refugees as possible. The Council will depart into space with the refugees and establish a New Tamaran."
"Why the Council, and not you, my husband?"
"I will stay behind," Myand’r sighed, "with those who cannot escape."
Luand’r fell silent for a moment. She knew she couldn't change her husband's mind, yet she couldn't bear the thought of life without him. Their marriage might have been arranged, but a bond of such deep affection had grown between them that a forced separation would leave an incurable wound on her soul.
"I’m staying too," she declared.
"You can’t," Myand’r said. "The children shouldn't be left orphans."
He was right. Children were still children; they needed a parent. If she had to come to terms with her husband's death, she would do it for their sake. "Speaking of the children..." Luand’r said as their three beloved offspring joined them. The eldest, Komand’r, walked proudly at the front with her head held high, while behind her, Koriand’r—stepping less confidently—led Ryand’r by the hand.
"Grand Ruler," Komand’r began, bowing.
"Komand’r," Myand’r laughed—though it was a laugh tinged with tears. "You needn’t stand on ceremony when we are alone. Call me 'Father' then."
"Very well... Father," she corrected herself. "We have heard the Citadel’s demands. We are ready to meet them."
Koriand’r and Ryand’r nodded in unison, confirming their sister’s words. Deep down, Myand’r swelled with pride. It was wonderful to see his children ready to make such a sacrifice. Yet, he himself could not bring himself to accept their devotion.
"Children," Myand’r sighed. "I know I raised you well, seeing you stand before me and declare your readiness to voluntarily surrender yourselves into captivity." At these words, Komand’r puffed out her chest, proud as a peacock. Koriand’r merely smiled, while Ryand’r remained impassive. "However," he continued, "the Council and I have reached a different decision."
"What different decision?" Koriand’r asked, perplexed. Komand’r raised her eyebrows in disbelief at her father’s words.
"You will be evacuated from the planet," he informed them. "We will use our space fleet to evacuate as many Tamaraneans as possible and rebuild Tamaran on another planet."
A tense silence fell over the room, broken by Komand’r.
"What?" she demanded indignantly. "But Father, that’s nepotism!"
"Komand’r, understand," Myand’r urged. "You’ll die there."
"So what?" she interrupted. "I’ve been taught since birth that the Grand Ruler must always make decisions that are best for the people. Our planet has five billion inhabitants. You can’t fit five billion Tamaraneans into a fleet of three thousand ships. How can you sacrifice an entire planet for the sake of three children? It’s a selfish decision that will cause more harm than good."
"Komand’r," Myand’r said in a tone that instantly silenced his agitated child, "you, Koriand’r, and Ryand’r are the heirs to the throne of Tamaran. If we hand you over, the planet will have no one worthy of the title of Grand Ruler—because I won’t live forever. We cannot hand the three of you over. I repeat, I am immensely proud of your willingness to make this sacrifice, but Tamaran is not ready for it."
"Couldn't you turn us over to the Citadel and then devise a plan to rescue us?" Koriand’r asked.
"We analyzed that possibility," Myand’r replied honestly, "but we concluded that, in all likelihood, we wouldn't be able to save you in time."
"But that still doesn't justify abandoning everything we’ve built to destruction! Rebuilding our civilization would take generations!" Komand’r thundered.
"Komand’r..." Luand’r warned. "Stop arguing."
"I will argue, because my father—as the Grand Ruler—should not be a coward," she retorted.
Even Ryand’r looked up, shocked by his older sister’s words. Komand’r had just called their father a coward. Needless to say, publicly insulting the Grand Ruler was a capital offense. Of course, no one was actually considering such a punishment for her, but the insult could not simply be ignored. Myand’r’s expression instantly turned grave.
"Komand’r, I have no objection to hearing substantive criticism, but I will not tolerate insults. You are confined to your room for a week. You will leave only for meals, accompanied by guards who will ensure you abide by the punishment."
Indignant, Komand’r tried to argue further, but was cut off.
"My decision is final, and the confinement will not be eased under any circumstances," he declared. "Your punishment begins now."
Two guards stepped forward to join the Grand Ruler in escorting the rebellious child to her room. Though furious, Komand’r did not resist; she walked obediently with the guards and her father. Once she was inside, steps were taken to ensure she could not open the balcony doors, and she was locked in from the outside. Guards were stationed at her door to ensure no one dared attempt to open it.
Koriand’r felt terrible for her sister. As the eldest, she was the first heir to the throne. She was a perfectionist. She wanted to prove, beyond a doubt, that she was worthy of the title of Grand Ruler destined for her. And now, like some pathetic brat, she was being locked in her room for a week. She had a feeling this would not end well.
Myand’r felt guilty, too. He had not wanted to punish Komand’r for her willingness to make a sacrifice, but she had left him no choice; her behavior had forced his hand.
Komand’r felt no remorse. In her view, Myand’r had acted wrongly by evacuating them from Tamaran. That decision actually ran counter to everything she believed the Grand Ruler was supposed to stand for. Her father had disgraced his title and deprived her of the chance to finally prove herself worthy of succeeding him. But she wouldn’t give up so easily; she would still avert the planet’s destruction and show everyone that sticking to her guns would pay off.