The next few days were pure hell. Just me, lying on that rock-hard bed, staring at the ceiling, or choking down piss-poor coffee in the mess hall. Occasionally, I’d make some half-hearted small talk with Jenna and Alek, but it was like talking to a couple of bricks. They knew everything about me, yet I didn’t learn a damn thing about them.
All that time stuck in my tiny cabin gave me too much space to think. In the middle of this whirlwind—from being arrested to breaking out, to tagging along with these lunatics in the armpit of space—I’d completely forgotten something important: my parents. They’re farmers on Etastar. And now, because of me, suspect by association. Would the OCI drag them into this mess, too? Probably. I tried to tell myself they wouldn’t, but I knew better. As the days dragged on, the thought ate away at me. My mood went from bad to worse, spiraling into a full-blown nightmare in my head.
Then, a knock on the door. “We’re arriving,” Jenna says.
Thank God. Finally. This trip is over. I drag myself out of bed, change into my regular clothes, and step out of the cabin. I head to the mess hall, then make my way to the cockpit. Yeah, I know Alek told me it’s off-limits, but screw him. I want to see how we’re landing. When I step inside, Alek and Jenna are in their seats, fiddling with. Alek’s pushing levers and tapping on some screen, while Jenna’s busy with buttons. It’s all a bunch of meaningless noise to me.
Through the front window, I can finally see Vlasthia X-2, the frozen rock they’re dragging me to. It’s a desolate, icy wasteland. No wonder no corporation’s touched it. Who the hell would want to live here? Other than these two lunatics, I guess.
Alek notices me and snaps, “Why the hell is he here?”
Jenna just shrugs, like it’s not worth making a fuss over. Alek shoots her a look, but drops it and goes back to the controls. The ship starts descending. There’s a shield protecting the hull from the heat of atmospheric entry, and the AC inside keeps things comfortably chilly. As we get closer, I get a better view of the planet’s surface—just an endless, flat sheet of snow. No mountains, no hills, not even a single rock. Just white nothingness.
It’s unsettling. It reminds me of that strange dream I had—the one with the beautiful woman and the snow. I shake my head. This is insane. Just a coincidence. I’m letting their stupid Oracle talk get to me.
The starship touches down on the frozen plain, and before I can even process the relief of landing, the ground beneath us gives way. My gut lurches, and I’m about to yell what the hell when Jenna, as calm as ever, beats me to it. "The ice isn’t collapsing," she says, barely looking at me. "We landed on top of the secret base. The mechanism’s lowering us into it."
Sure enough, the ship descends slowly, like some kind of elevator, dropping down into the icy depths. We land smoothly on a platform far below, and above us, the ice hatch seals shut again, blending perfectly with the surface. "We’re here," Alek grunts, like he’s been waiting to say that for days. "Time to meet the Oracle." The unspoken part—the part I’d overheard a few days ago—hangs in the air: and find out if you're really the chosen one.
Alek and Jenna head out of the cockpit, and I trail behind them. The outer hatch opens, the ramp lowers, and outside, five armed figures are waiting. These must be the foot soldiers of their little socialist revolution. No uniforms, no real gear—this isn’t some professional army. They’re dressed like scavengers, each in mismatched clothes, but they all hold laser rifles like they’ve seen plenty of action. And by the look in their eyes, I’d say they’re more than comfortable pulling the trigger.
One of the group steps forward—a big guy, bald, black, and built like he could snap me in half without breaking a sweat. Not fat, just solid muscle, with skin like dark chocolate and eyes that size you up without saying a word. He’s probably pushing fifty, but he’s got this rugged, no-nonsense look about him. If I had to pick someone to star in a HoloNet movie about a badass revolutionary, it’d be him.
"Glad to see you two made it back in one piece," he says, addressing Alek and Jenna, like I don’t even exist. "We heard some reports about the OCI being onto you. Had us worried."
Finally, his eyes land on me. His stare is hard, but it’s not like Alek’s constant look of disgust. This guy doesn’t seem to care enough about me to be disappointed. I’m just another piece of the puzzle to him. "Name’s Jared," he says, flatly. "I’m the Commander here, head of this operation. So, you’re the prophesized chosen one, huh?"
I nod. Not because I believe it—hell no. This whole thing screams of cultish nonsense. Still, I get it. If they figure out I’m not their guy, I’m screwed. They’re not going to just let me walk out after seeing their secret hideout. And even if by some miracle they did, the OCI would be waiting to throw me in a cell or worse. So I nod again, play along. No point in fighting the role they’ve handed me.
“You’ll be meeting the Oracle,” Jared says. “She’ll decide if you’re really the chosen one she prophesied. If you are, she’ll unlock your potential.”
There’s that line again—unlocking my potential. They’ve all been repeating it like some kind of mantra, but I still have no clue what it means. What, I’m gonna suddenly get superpowers or something? Yeah, right. This isn’t some cheesy HoloNet series. Real life doesn’t come with superpowers. That’s just delusional crap. Still, I’ll keep playing along. What else am I gonna do?
“Follow me.”
Jared strides ahead, leading the pack. Behind him are the armed goons, then Alek and Jenna, and me bringing up the rear, like a dead man walking. The ice corridors we move through are narrow and freezing, the cold biting into me with each step. The others seem unfazed. Either they’ve gotten used to it, or they’re just tougher than me. Probably both.
We turn a corner, and there it is—a door. Metal, heavy-looking. “The Oracle’s inside,” Jared says, turning to face me. “You go in alone. Good luck.”
I swallow hard. I have no idea what’s behind that door or what this Oracle really is. And if she decides I’m not the chosen one? What then? I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead, cold and prickling. But what can I do? Refuse? Not a chance. Jared’s people are standing right there with laser rifles, and they look ready to use them at a moment’s notice. So, I take a deep breath and step forward.
I step into the room, the air thick with the scent of incense and candle smoke. It’s dim, lit just enough by a few flickering candles to make out the space. In the center, purple silk curtains hang in a circle, glowing faintly from the light inside. I can see a figure through the fabric. My heart skips. I move forward, part the curtains, and there she is—exactly like in my dream.
She’s sitting cross-legged on a silk cushion, raised on a platform. Slender, slim, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, skin pale as porcelain. Those piercing brown eyes, the full lips—they’re burned into my memory. She’s beyond beautiful, like she’s stepped right out of another world. She’s wearing the same flowing red gown as in my dream, but now there’s a red silk headscarf too, giving her this eerie, almost otherworldly aura.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Ian,” she says, her voice as smooth and melodic as I remember. “I told you we would meet.”
I freeze. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I’m scrambling to process it all. How the hell does she know me? How does she know about the dream? And, for that matter, how the hell did I dream of her? I’ve never seen her in my life, never even heard of her. Did she somehow reach into my head? Telepathy? That’s... impossible. Isn’t it? This has to be some trick, right? But how? Is she really an Oracle? Is all this mystical crap actually real? My brain’s short-circuiting just trying to make sense of it.
“Sit down,” she says, calm, almost commanding.
I sit, cross-legged, mirroring her. “Yes?” I manage to stammer, though I don’t even know what I’m saying yes to.
She reaches out, placing her hand over mine. Her skin is soft, her nails polished red. Before I can even process it, I hear her voice—clear and calm—but her lips aren’t moving. It’s in my head. Relax, she says. Let go of control. Trust me. Help me unlock your potential.
My instinct is to fight it, to resist, but something in her tone makes me stop. I let go, stop trying to control whatever this is. And suddenly, I feel her. Not just holding my hand, but in my mind, pushing past walls I didn’t even know I had. She’s rifling through my memories, my thoughts—like flipping through pages in a book. I want to stop her, to shut it all off, but I’m completely powerless.
An overwhelming urge hits me to close my eyes, and I do. And then—somehow—I’m in her memories. I see her as a teenager, running through a grassy field. It feels almost peaceful until a loud noise shatters the calm. I look up and see dark figures descending from the sky—paratroopers in black armor, armed with laser rifles. There’s a roar overhead, and I catch sight of a starship firing into a village. Explosions, screams, chaos. And then I feel her fear as one of the troopers slams the butt of his rifle into her face. She’s on the ground, bleeding, crying—everything fades to black.
The memory snaps off, and the connection breaks. The presence in my head is gone, and when I open my eyes, she’s still holding my hand. Her expression is calm, but there’s a tear hanging at the edge of one eye, threatening to fall.
“You got into my mind,” she says, this time with actual words, not the weird telepathy thing. “As I got into yours. That proves you're the chosen one. Only someone gifted in the ways of Zven could do that.”
“Zven?” Never heard that word before in my life.
“It’s the vital force that binds the universe together. Most people are blind to it, some can sense it, and a rare few can control it. You've just shown you’re not only attuned to it but capable of wielding it. And according to the visions I’ve had, your power will surpass anyone else’s.”
“Power?” I ask, feeling a little less skeptical now. “How do I control it?”
“You need to learn to walk before you can run.” And then she just stops. I half expect her to say more, but nope. Jenna had warned me the Oracle was cryptic, but this is on another level. Actually, what the hell is her name?
“So… what do I call you? 'Oracle' seems a bit... impersonal.”
“You put too much weight on names,” she says, looking at me like I’ve asked a stupid question. “What matters isn’t what we’re called, but our true essence.”
Great. Another cryptic, fortune-cookie response instead of a simple answer.
“You should rest now,” she says, her voice soft with concern. “I know it’s been a long journey, and you’ve been through a lot.”
I just nod. No point arguing. I step out of the room, and there they all are—Jared, Alek, Jenna, and the goon squad, waiting like they’ve been holding their breath. Alek’s the first to speak, practically vibrating with impatience.
“So?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to process it all. “I’m the chosen one, apparently.” This time, it’s not just a line I’m feeding them to stay alive. After what just happened in there, some part of me is actually starting to believe it.
Alek smiles, relief washing over his face, like a weight's been lifted.
“Jenna will show you to your quarters,” Jared says, barely reacting. He’s calm, unreadable. With a curt nod, he, Alek, and the others head off, leaving me alone with Jenna.
“Come on,” Jenna says, motioning for me to follow.
I trail behind her, too tired to say much.
“I’m glad the Oracle confirmed you’re the chosen one,” she says, glancing back at me. “Would’ve sucked if your whole life got turned upside down for nothing.”
“Yeah, that would’ve been a real bummer,” I mutter. Because, you know, discovering I have superhuman powers and I’m some prophesied savior really takes the edge off losing my job, my apartment, and becoming a fugitive hiding out in a frozen socialist bunker at the edge of human space. Lucky me.
After a few more turns, we reach a hallway lined with identical metal doors on either side. Jenna stops by one, number 15, engraved in a faint, almost industrial font. “This is yours,” she says, nodding at the door.
I give her a quick nod back.
She hands me a keycard. “Make yourself comfortable. This is home now. I’ll come by later to show you the mess hall where you’ll be eating.” With that, she leaves, disappearing down the corridor, leaving me alone.
I swipe the keycard and step inside. The room is small and bare, but it’s… alright. Gray walls, gray floor, a short metal desk with a holocomputer and a basic chair, a metal closet, and a bed. There’s a tiny side space—calling it a bathroom feels generous, but at least it’s private. There’s a sink, toilet, and a narrow shower stall that looks like it’ll be a squeeze, but it’s better than sharing communal showers like on the starship. So, small wins, I guess.
I strip down, dropping my clothes onto the chair, and step into the stall. The hot water starts up, and I let it run over me, soaking into every tense muscle. With my eyes closed, I try to block out the reality around me—this frozen hellhole at the edge of human space, my family likely being under OCI custody, the sudden, absurd knowledge that I’ve got telepathic abilities and I’m attuned to this “Zven” energy. Just for a minute, I let it all go and stand there, trying to lose myself in the steam.
The hot water isn’t enough to keep my mind from drifting back to the Oracle, to the fact that I’ve somehow got telepathic powers and might actually be this "chosen one." But honestly? Leading a revolution? Even if I do have powers, it sounds suicidal. Going up against the United Corporate Systems—an empire stretching across fifty solar systems—with a band of socialist fanatics? That’s beyond crazy. But I guess I don’t have a lot of choices left. I’m already a fugitive, and UCS probably has me marked as public enemy number one.
I shut off the water and step out, grabbing a towel. Once I’m dry, I move back into the main room, open the metal closet, and find a fresh set of clothes. Actual clean underwear, too. I’m finally clean. Wearing the same clothes for over seven days, even after showers, had been a drag. These new clothes feel amazing. I put on black pants and shirt, and they actually fit. My old clothes get shoved into the closet.
Sitting at the desk, I start up the holocomputer. HoloNet access is locked down, of course, but there are a couple of digital books. I open one—some dreary manifesto about the evils of corporatism and the need for “social justice.” Great. Three pages in, my eyelids start to sag. Before I know it, my head drops onto the desk, and I’m out cold.
A loud knock jerks me awake, and I crash to the floor along with the chair. Groaning, I get up and open the door to see Jenna standing there, smiling like she didn’t just almost give me a heart attack. “Time for dinner,” she says. “Follow me.”
I grunt a response and follow her through a maze of metal corridors until we reach a large hall filled with tables and chairs. About thirty people are scattered around eating, with another dozen waiting in line at the food counter. I spot Jared sitting with a small group—must be the inner circle. They’re talking, but I can’t catch what they’re saying.
As I shuffle through the line, Alek suddenly appears next to me. “You brought him,” he says, looking at Jenna and ignoring me. “Good.” Right. Just when I thought I might catch a break from him breathing down my neck.
Finally, it’s my turn, and one of the kitchen staff hands me a tray. There’s a piece of steak and a bowl of salad on the plate, and I can’t help but ask, “Any rice or potatoes?”
Before the guy can answer, Alek cuts in. “No carbs. He’s on a diet.”
“Diet?”
“You need to lose weight,” Jenna says. “You’ve got belly fat. If you’re going to lead this revolution, you’ll need to be in shape. Alek will start you on an exercise program, too.”
Perfect. Just what I need. I sigh audibly. I guess my transformation to an action hero has begun…