They stared down the barrels of the stasis pods.

Fifty years…

Myka, Dorian, and Bryn couldn’t believe it. An eternity locked away, frozen in time.

Yet… Bryn felt something gnawing at her, a sense she couldn’t shake. Ever since they’d arrived, the silence had been deafening. No one but the Old Man had appeared.

There’s something wrong about this place…

“As I was saying, my dear Children,” the Old Man began, his voice calm but sharp as a knife, “this planet was made for beings like you and me. Though, I admit, we’re not much of a threat to anyone these days. Isn’t that right, Orin?”

The trio strained their eyes, scanning the empty room.

Who was he talking to? There was no one there.

“We simply want to survive,” the Old Man continued. “To live and be left alone. So, please, don’t fight me on this.” He snapped his fingers, and they began drifting toward the pods.

“How can you just assume we’re killers?” Myka protested, her voice trembling but defiant. “You don’t even know us!”

The Old Man wagged a crooked finger. “It’s not about knowing you, my dear. It’s about risk. Your people have razed entire planets. I’m older than I look—I’ve seen what your kind can do.”

“No, you’ve seen what people like us can do,” Bryn shot back. “But you’ve never met us. You don’t know who we are. You look at us and assume the worst. You see hatred—”

The Old Man moved so quickly that he was inches from her face in an instant.

As he spoke, she saw the wrinkles in his face flicker for a moment.

“I see more than hatred. I see the death of civilizations. The screams of countless innocents. The kind of terror that lingers for generations. I see a bloodline so vile, so unyielding, it makes me certain the devil himself exists.”

The Old Man clapped his hands, and they hurtled toward the stasis pods at breakneck speed.

“Please. Stop this,” Myka said, her voice was soft but commanded an audience and demanded empathy. Even the Old Man paused, his sharp expression softening. Myka’s words were simple, yet Bryn noticed they almost had a sedative effect.

“We haven’t done anything. Please… let us go.”

The Old Man sighed, his shoulders sagging as though burdened by a sudden wave of nostalgia. “Oh? Is that right…” His voice was distant, almost wistful.

With a snap of his fingers, Bryn, Myka, and Dorian collapsed to the floor, free to move once more.

“You’re free to move,” the Old Man said, turning his back to them. “You can try and run, but you’d never find your way out.” He gestured for them to follow.

Bryn and Dorian exchanged a glance before instinctively creating distance from him. There was no clear exit, no obvious escape route.

“Let’s restrain him,” Bryn whispered to Dorian, her voice low and sharp. “Then we can figure out how to get out of here.”

But Myka was already a few steps behind the Old Man, her pace steady, almost casual.

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“She’s a fool,” Bryn hissed, her tension palpable. She broke into a sprint, reaching out to grab Myka’s arm. But the closer she got to Myka, the more her body seemed to betray her. A wave of calm washed over her, dulling her urgency.

“Let’s see what he has to say,” Myka said, her voice warm and serene, a faint smile curling her lips.

Bryn froze.

How can she be smiling in a situation like this?

“Dorian, can you knock some sense into her?” Bryn asked, but Dorian had now joined Myka by her side, he seemed to be washed in a trance.

“Come now. I want to show you all something.” The Old Man said.

----------------------------------------

The elevator carried them upward, seemingly for miles, into the heavens. Its glass walls revealed an awe-inspiring view of a sprawling, brilliant city stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The architecture was flawless, a masterpiece of ingenuity and artistry. The streets below wove intricate patterns, a testament to careful design and planning.

But one question hung heavily in the air:

Where is everyone?

“Beautiful, isn’t it…” The Old Man stood tall, pride swelling in his voice. “We were among the first to arrive on Gehanna. It took centuries to build this.” He gestured toward the shimmering cityscape. “My people live for extraordinary periods—some of us for thousands of years. We weren’t criminals, you see, merely… a threat to the universe.”

He let the words hang in the air before continuing, his tone laced with bitterness. “We were painted as terrorists, a convenient label for a powerful minority. Funny, isn’t it? How easy it is to be branded the enemy when you hold the power to tip the scales.”

He sighed, his gaze distant. “So, we were given a choice: live here or face annihilation. I’m sure you can imagine the rest.”

“And then the inhabitants of Gehanna had their way with you,” Bryn said, her eyes dark and unyielding.

The Old Man chuckled softly, but it was hollow, devoid of mirth. “While that’s technically true, it wasn’t just any of the inhabitants.” He turned, his piercing gaze locking onto hers.

“It was your people.”

The Old Man shook his head slowly, his gaze unwavering as the trio stood silently.

“No, that’s not quite right. It wasn’t all of your people. Just one. A single wandering soul. We took her in, and she was our Armageddon.”

“Bullshit,” Bryn snapped.

The Old Man chuckled softly, a mirthless sound. “Your Brilliance is still budding. Each of you is growing stronger by the day. You can feel it, can’t you? Your powers resonating further, reaching deeper.” His eyes flicked toward Myka, studying her intently. “Whatever you’re capable of, it’s already affecting those around you—amplifying them, influencing them—whether you realize it or not.”

A flicker of panic crossed Myka’s face.

“She’s unknowingly sedating us, making us more… pliable,” the Old Man added.

Before Myka could respond, Dorian stepped closer, his presence grounding her. “I’d noticed something,” he admitted softly, a trace of pride in his voice. “But I didn’t know it was you.” He rested his forehead against hers, his touch reassuring.

“Tsst.” The Old Man dismissed the gesture with a sharp breath, unimpressed. “A single one of your kind caused untold suffering.”

“I still don’t believe it,” Bryn challenged, her eyes narrowing. “How?”

“I could tell you,” he said slowly, his tone deliberate, “but somehow, I doubt you’d believe me.”

“How convenient,” Bryn scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm, “I’d rather show you.” The Old Man began tapping at the air, his fingers moving with precision, as though entering keystrokes on an invisible interface. Myka, Dorian, and Bryn exchanged uneasy glances. If there was something tangible guiding his actions, it remained hidden from their view.

But then, the world around them began to shift. The skeletal stillness of the city melted away, replaced by vibrancy and motion. The architecture remained the same—flawless, sprawling, and imposing—but now, the streets were alive with laughter and joy. People bustled about, their faces radiant with purpose. The once-empty thoroughfares pulsed with energy, filled with colorful stalls, cheerful voices, and the scent of fresh bread wafting through the air.

They were suddenly at street level. Myka couldn’t suppress a gasp, a startled laugh escaping her lips. “It’s… beautiful,” she murmured, almost disbelieving.

“There.” The Old Man pointed down the street, his voice cold and deliberate.

At the far end of the bustling street stood a hooded figure, shrouded in shadow despite the brightness of the day. Her presence felt like a tear in the fabric of this idyllic scene—a crack in its perfection.

For a moment, she didn’t move, standing unnervingly still. Then, it happened.

The first scream.

It was raw, piercing, cutting through the warmth of the scene like a blade. Heads turned. Panic rippled through the crowd. The laughter stopped.

The Old Man’s face was impassive, but his voice carried a weight that made their stomachs drop. “Now let me show you,” he said, “the beginning of the end.”