Planet Teleopea – Capital City: Zyonchunn

“Tell me,” the silver-haired Teleopean said, his voice calm but cold, “how did you survive?”

He paced slowly across the metallic floor, his tall silhouette stretching and distorting on the wall beside him.

Before him sat another Teleopean—gold-haired, restrained by reinforced metal cuffs, locked into a chair engineered to suppress psychic resonance.

The prisoner watched him in silence, golden eyes tracking the silver-haired kin’s every movement without so much as a twitch of expression.

The interrogation had gone on for several star-ring hours. Yet the silver-haired Teleopean showed no irritation. He had patience—and curiosity.

The thing his covert taskforce had brought back was not what he’d expected, but if its identity proved genuine, it could be far more valuable to Teleopea than any weapon.

After all, the current Star Emperor was too drunk on war and cruelty to realize that even Teleopea’s formidable science could not stand alone against the combined powers of the galaxy.

And now—the current Star Emperor…

The man’s silver pupils contracted slightly as he gazed at the figure before him.

For a fleeting moment, another face surfaced in his mind—one identical to the one before him now.

In memory, that child had been radiant, full of light. Naive, kind, almost absurdly hopeful about the world despite his quiet fears.

And that, perhaps, was one of the reasons for his ruin.

Something long buried stirred faintly within the man’s chest, like an emotion struggling to break free after centuries of silence.

But the tremor vanished as quickly as it came, crushed beneath his will.

The silver-haired Teleopean’s eyes refocused, cold and sharp.

What stood before him was no longer that child, but a being steeped in malice and death.

Such a transformation could only mean one thing—this child had been the first pitiful victim of the new Star Emperor’s reign.

“Two hundred and ten star-rings ago,” the man began, his voice low and deliberate, “you fled Teleopea with mortal wounds. Radiation poisoning, fluid corrosion, neural damage—the odds of survival were nearly zero.”

He leaned closer. “And yet, here you sit. Alive.”

The young Teleopean did not respond. His face—still youthful, almost childlike—remained blank.

They stared at each other, neither moving, until one finally looked away.

The silence in the metal room grew dense, colder than the air itself.

──No. ‘I’ didn’t survive.──

The thought appeared suddenly inside the silver-haired man’s mind, not spoken but placed there.

He didn’t flinch. His chrome irises shifted calmly toward the prisoner, who now looked directly back at him.

“So,” the man said with a faint, mocking smile, “you’ve decided to communicate. Though I suppose this hardly counts as traditional conversation.”

──Because I realized that if I stay silent, I’ll never leave this place.──

The younger one blinked once. A faint curve touched his lips.

It was the gesture of a smile—empty, mechanical, devoid of warmth.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen a continuation,” the silver-haired interrogator mused, tilting his head. “So long I’d begun to think our kind had lost the ability entirely.”

It didn’t take him long to piece together the truth.

Even for him, the realization was astonishing.

“Your existence is… delicate,” he said at last. “Even here, your identity is dangerous. Without my protection, you wouldn’t last a minute on this planet.”

Now that the captive was responding, there was no point in circling the subject. “If you wish to live, you’ll have to prove your worth.”

He paused, voice dropping. “And don’t even think about escaping. This facility is shielded for psychic containment, guarded by the best. The moment you cross that door, you’ll be reduced to dust by automatic lasers. Understand?”

──I understand. You mean my only option is to obey.──

The young prisoner smiled again, shifting slightly against the cuffs that bit into his wrists.

“You’re pragmatic,” the man said approvingly. “That will make our arrangement easier.”

He stepped closer—too close—and at once a red light flared across the bindings.

A surge of energy lashed through the prisoner’s body.

The young Teleopean convulsed, face twisting in agony. Golden blood spilled from his mouth. He jerked once, then slumped forward, hair falling over his chest like a curtain of sunlight.

The interrogator chuckled softly. He reached out, fisted a handful of the youth’s hair, and yanked his head back, forcing him to look up.

“I forgot to mention,” he said, voice colder than vacuum. “This room was designed specifically for those with royal psychic ability. Best not to use it. And do not attempt to kill me with your mind.”

He released the younger Teleopean roughly. The youth gasped, trembling.

“Don’t be hostile toward everything,” the man continued. “If you cooperate, you’ll find I can be… generous.”

The prisoner’s breath came in ragged pulls, each one laced with pain.

“First,” the interrogator went on as if lecturing, “you’ll need a name. We can’t refer to you as the Continuation forever.”

──No! I already have a name──

Despite the pain, the younger one’s psychic voice struck sharp and clear through the man’s mind.

──My name is Chen. Xing. Chen.──

“Is that so?” the man murmured, genuinely intrigued.

Ordinarily, Continuations took new names to avoid fracturing under the weight of their past selves. But this one—this one had kept his Predecessor’s.

How interesting.

He smiled—a thin, glacial curve. “Very well then, Chen. A pleasure to meet you. Allow me to introduce myself.”

He straightened, every motion precise, regal.

“I am Mien, the High Chancellor of the Teleopean Council.

I hope our cooperation proves more pleasant than today’s introduction.”