Chen was led out of that hateful metal cell into another room. Six Teleopean soldiers had “escorted” him there—only this new chamber was lavish to the point of excess.

The spacious walls were inlaid with rare metals and elements harvested from across the stars: a luxury cage worth millions.

Chen let himself fall into the soft, oversized bed. His body sank into the duvet and cushions; he laid his right hand over his chest and breathed slowly.

Pain flooded his ribs.

The electronic recoil had torn a hole in his heart.

In any other species it would have been fatal. But Teleopeans had excellent auxiliary systems; even when primary organs were severely damaged the assisted circuits kept blood flowing until organs could regenerate. That was why Chen still lived.

It wasn’t enough, though.

The only condition the silver-haired man had set for keeping him alive was obedience.

Between the Council that favored peace and the reigning Star Emperor who clung to war, Teleopea had been driven to the brink. Even with its terrifying technology, no single civilization could withstand the galaxy’s onslaught alone. In the last succession, every royal with claims to the throne had been hunted to extinction by the present Emperor. The Council had no recourse; it could only watch as the last emperor dragged the civilization toward the muzzle of war.

Mien believed the Emperor would be Teleopea’s doom. He decided—after weighing options—that he needed someone who could remove that threat.

Someone whose royal psychic power equaled the Emperor’s.

A perfect assassination tool.

“Help me,” the silver-haired man had told him, “And you will taste the joy of revenge.”

You can deny that you are not the slain “Chen,” the man had said, but you cannot deny the hatred in your heart for the one who killed your predecessor—after all, those memories are yours too.

Chen squinted and thought quietly about the man’s words.

He did not deny the appeal. There had been so much hatred, so much anger and regret when his predecessor died.

He understood why that predecessor had felt hatred and fury—yet he could not remember why that person had left the world with such deep regret.

He felt as if he had forgotten something important.

Very important.

Something, or… someone?

──Chen──

──You… are you, unique… one and only…──

──Forget… me…──

Fragmented images—like memories—flashed, but they passed too quickly to be read.

“Ugh…” Chen pressed his other hand to his forehead in frustration. Since this morning every attempt to chase down the missing piece had given him a splitting headache.

What exactly—

What have I forgotten…?

The pain in his chest persisted, but a different hollowness ate at him more fiercely than any wound; it burned through his soul.

Abruptly, the door of the “cage” whooshed open. Chen sprang from the bed into a defensive stance.

A long, lithe figure entered. His face was exquisitely beautiful—feminine and provocatively androgynous—and a smile that was far from friendly flickered across his lips. Chen felt the hairs on his neck lift.

“ You are with me now, little one.”  he said, chin lifted in challenge. “From now on you’re my understudy. Pack your things and come.”

An hour earlier, at the Council Hall—Mien’s residence.

“You found him?” a voice demanded.

“Yes.” The silver-haired man turned, studying the other for a moment before answering slowly. “Where did you hear—”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot.” The other interrupted, rougher, abrupt. “Hand him to me.”

“You know he’s not your pupil,” Mien replied coolly. He had the drink cup raised to his lips, the motion casual, as if discussing something cheap and ordinary. “He’s a different individual who carries the same genes—a twisted, unstable ‘continuation.’ Chen is dead. This is not the Chen you remember, Shi. You know that.”

Shi’s features softened into a pleading expression that flickered across his otherwise feline face, and for a heartbeat Mien’s hand holding the cup stilled—so slightly it might have been missed.

“The Council has decided,” Mien continued, his voice devoid of warmth, “that he will be transferred to the Wandewf facility in three star-rings’ time. There, the science division may find him useful.”

At this, Shi’s eyes went wide in disbelief; his whole body trembled with emotion. “No! You can’t—you can’t do that!”

Wandewf was Teleopea’s technological complex. He meant to hand the child over as an experimental subject.

Shi lunged, grabbing Mien by the lapel. Although far smaller than him, he had such strength that he nearly lifted him from the floor. But his fury was tempered by calculation; he knew that pleading now would be more effective than threats.

“Give him to me,” he said, forcing his voice steady. “I will swear the Surlantta oath.”

Mien’s silver pupils widened slightly—surprise at his offer.

After a long pause he spoke, cool and edged with hidden anger. “Years ago you refused the Surlantta with scorn. Now you offer it for the sake of a ‘Continuation’—”

“He’s of my blood!” Shi snapped, cutting him off. “I will not be like those who exploit even family to seize power!” He steadied himself, composing his features. “Give him to me, Mien. I beg you.”

Mien regarded him with a probing stare. Then, his thin mouth closing into a line, he nodded. “Very well. I will give him to you. But do not try anything at the Surlantta ceremony.”

Mien remembered the botched ritual years ago; he would not repeat that mistake.

Shi inclined his head. His golden hair slid like liquid over his chest as he straightened, eyes solemn. “I swear, on the honor of my line, I will uphold my vow.”