LOCATION: UNKNOWN EXOPLANET
TIME: 5 YEARS AGO
The sky above the capital had never seen starlight. Not once in recorded history. No sun rose over its obsidian towers, no moon pulled at its seas. The planet lived in a permanent, suffocating dark — and somehow, stubbornly, magnificently, life thrived anyway.
Deep beneath the surface, past the transportation lodes where commuters poured in and out past the glowing light-stone markets and the hum of ten million lives going about their business, sat the Core. The true capital. The heart of the world. And at the centre of the heart, in the tallest tower that no ordinary citizen would ever set foot in, seven of the most powerful people on the planet were having a very bad day.
"The Humans are taking too much land." The Head of Diplomacy's fingers drummed against the blaster on his hip"Three planets in Solar Complex 3. No survivors."
The council chamber was almost entirely dark. Light-stones placed at intervals cast just enough glow to see the faces around the table — and none of those faces looked particularly hopeful.
"Then we fight back." The Head of Conflict and Resolution leaned forward. "Or we evacuate. We cannot simply sit here and watch our people fall."
He looked toward the head of the table. The Great Leader said nothing. He rarely did, until he was ready. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.
It was the Minister of Logistics and Information who broke it, his voice measured and grave. "I have pressed this once before. I will press it again. We need to move forward with the project." He let the words land before continuing. "The blue star — Earth, as they call it — is the most resource-rich planet in the known universe. And we all know that war with humanity is no longer a question of if."
"What project?" snapped the Head of Strategy and Resource Planning. "Half this table doesn't know what you're referring to."
The Minister glanced toward the Great Leader. A single nod. Permission granted.
"Operation Blackstar." He folded his hands. "It was conceived over three thousand years ago by the second Head of Information. It was deemed unnecessary at the time and shelved — but she was wise enough to record it. The concept is simple: infiltration. We send one individual, strong in dark magic, deep into human territory. A ghost. A source. Eyes and ears we cannot get any other way."
"And the flaw?" the Head of Strategy pressed sensing the uncertainty behind the minister's eyes.
"Why would anyone with dark magic volunteer?" He said it flatly, already knowing how it landed. "Here, dark magic is everything. Status. Wealth. Power. Those who carry it want for nothing. Convincing one to leave willingly — that is the problem we have not solved."
The Minister of Magic stirred. "Why dark magic specifically? Combine and speed traits exist in other strands. Nature-type would actually be stronger near Earth — the blue star's proximity to the Source would amplify it considerably."
"Because nature-type bends to the light." The Minister of Logistics' expression didn't change. "Every strand of magic on this planet — every clan, every type — carries the light trait at its core. Every strand except one. And humanity is made of light. Their weakest soldier carries more magical strength than three of ours. We do not send someone to fight. We send someone who can exist in their world without being burned out of it."
The chamber went very quiet.
Some of them were already thinking about the Rebellion of Darkness. Most of them tried not to. One dark mage, thirty years ago, had decided the he was the worthy one to lead the government and decided it was a good idea to get rid of it. It had taken three hundred soldiers and an unknown number of civilians to stop him. And he hadn't even been trying that hard, by the end.
They all turned to the Great Leader.
He spoke.
"The operation proceeds." His voice didn't need to be loud to fill the room. "I charge the Heads of Culture, Magic, and Information with finding our candidate. I want a name by tomorrow. You can take all the funds you need. If their magic requires strengthening, strengthen it — the strand can be enhanced." He paused. "Heads of War and Strategy — I don't care about your disagreements. I want a full military plan and a deployment pattern by the end of the week. Forced recruitment projections included." Another pause. "Anything else?"
"Nay," the room said.
"Then we're done."
He rose and left, his servants folding in behind him like a shadow. The others filtered out slowly, gathering their notes, exchanging low words. Within minutes the chamber held only three people — the Head of Security, the Head of Strategy, and the Head of War.
The Head of Security wasn't paying attention to either of them. He had his transmitter pressed to his ear, his jaw tight, his free hand very still on the table. Then he started swearing. Quietly at first, then not quietly at all.
He ended the call and slammed his palm down hard enough to rattle the light-stones.
Then he went very still.
He had a name.
He wished he didn't.
TIME: NEXT DAY
The mood in the chamber was worse than the day before, which was saying something. No suitable candidate had been found. The Heads of Culture and Magic looked exhausted. The Minister of Information was staring at the ceiling.
Then the Head of Security stood up.
"I found him."
Nobody missed the fact that he didn't look pleased about it.
"Then why," the Head of Culture said carefully, "do you look like that?"
"Because it's him." He said it like the word tasted bad. "Code Name Zero. The youngest person ever listed on the Most Wanted register. Born under the Cursed Black." A beat. "The Great Leader's son."
The room didn't explode. It went the other direction entirely — that specific, suffocating silence that meant everyone was thinking the same thing and no one wanted to say it first.
The Great Leader's expression revealed nothing.
"...Him," he said, at last.
"Yes, sir."
A long pause.
"Then let him do one thing of worth in his twelve years of life." He stood. "Nyxar will be the operative for Operation Blackstar."
No one applauded. No one looked particularly relieved either. They were talking about Code Name Zero. The twelve-year-old who, according to the security report, had been bored when he'd done most of it.
LOCATION: CAPITAL PRISON
Nyx heard the footsteps before he saw the guards. He'd been counting ceiling cracks for the last four hours — there were thirty-one, which was deeply disappointing — and the footsteps were honestly a welcome interruption.
Two of them, he thought, tilting his head without sitting up. Heavy armour on the left one. The right one's nervous — shorter stride.
He grinned at the ceiling.
I could work with this.
He'd been putting together a rough plan for a prison break, mostly out of boredom. Nothing too dramatic. Just enough chaos to make his father visit in person, so Nyx could watch his face when he saw the empty cells and the very comfortable-looking son sitting in the middle of the wreckage. It would be funny. Worth the extra sentence, probably.
The cell door opened.
"Out," the guard said.
Nyx finally sat up. "What, I'm free?"
The guard — the nervous right-stride one, he confirmed — actually looked a little sorry for him, which was new. He unlocked the binding cuffs and handed over a folded set of clothes, a photograph, and a pair of black gloves.
"Sir Nyx." The guard hesitated. "I genuinely feel sorry for you. Where they're sending you — no one from any world would want to go."
He portalled Nyx out before he could ask a follow-up question.
The next thing Nyx knew, he was standing in the middle of a transport ship. Files on the table. Autopilot already engaged. And a very noticeable absence of anything he could use his magic on — the whole ship hummed with dark-magic proofing, subtle and thorough and deeply annoying.
He picked up the files.
Read the first page.
Sat down slowly.
Read it again.
"Operation Blackstar," he said to absolutely no one. "They really named it Blackstar. That's just a Blue rip-off. That's embarrassing for everyone involved."
He flipped to the mission brief.
He flipped to the travel duration.
He stared at it for a long moment.
"FIVE YEARS?!"
The ship didn't respond. The autopilot continued its calm, indifferent trajectory out of the system, aimed at a distant blue dot that didn't know he was coming.
Nyx leaned back in his seat, stared at the ceiling — fourteen cracks, much better — and smiled the kind of smile that had made three hundred security personnel very nervous over the years.
Earth, he thought. Fine. Let's see what you've got.