Return to Earth

Somewhere in the B16-M Drift…

"You see that old bucket of bolts? Yeah, that's mine."

The ship sat in orbit, its shape vaguely resembling one of those ancient Sony digital cameras. Faded paint, loose panels, rust creeping in where metal met vacuum. The cockpit had room for three, but only one seat was in decent shape. The second had a torn cushion. The third…

"I get hungry."

Spilled drinks, cheese stains, and some mysterious white gunk. Best not to ask.

The pilot, lounging in the one good seat, smirked at the mess.

"I'm Lucas. No last name. Never met my old man, so no point pretending I have one. I'm Indian. Look about twenty-five, but thanks to some genetic tinkering, I've been kicking around for at least sixty-eight years. Humanity got ahead of itself a while back, tried to outsmart time. You know how that usually goes."

Outside the viewport, the black was cluttered with ships and stations. Some drifting, some docked. Below, a planet—just another rock with a name no one bothered to remember.

"Yeah, we got around. Colonized star systems, hopped galaxies, made a mess of things across the board. This here is the Miners' Planet, a place where people break their backs so someone richer can sit pretty in another system. Those white ships? Government. Always watching, always making sure folks don't step out of line."

A voice crackled through the comms.

"This is the Colonial Authority. Unregistered vessel Trex, please confirm pilot and flight plan."

Lucas leaned toward the mic. "Lucas, piloting Trex. Transporting thirty-eight passengers to E81-B, planet Ericsia. Can I get the pass now?"

Silence. Then static.

"Negative. The E system's transport layer is experiencing temporary routing issues. You'll need to reroute through A0 first."

Lucas frowned. "A0? That's… Earth."

"Affirmative."

"Can't I just wait here till the route clears?"

Another pause, longer this time. Then,

"Denied. You lack a reserved docking station. Your ship also does not meet minimum requirements for sustained orbital holding with thirty-eight passengers. Failure to comply will result in violation charges under Space Traffic Law 2300, Section—"

Lucas shut off the feed. "Yeah, yeah, I get it."

He exhaled, rubbing his temples.

"Guess I better break the bad news."

Below Deck

The main cabin was dim, the lighting flickering like it couldn't decide whether to work or give up. No rows of plush seats, no fancy accommodations—just thirty-eight passengers crammed in like cargo, strapped to repurposed flight harnesses. The air was thick with sweat and the kind of exhaustion that settled into people who had spent their lives running from something.

"Hey, Captain! Your ship's a piece of shit," someone called out.

Lucas shrugged. "You're welcome to step outside."

A few laughs. Mostly groans. They knew they didn't have better options.

He clapped his hands. "Alright, listen up. Change of plans. Can't go straight to E81-B—transport layer's down. We reroute through A0 first."

The reaction was immediate. Grumbles, curses, frustration bubbling up.

"You knew this before we left?" someone demanded.

Lucas held up a hand. "Relax. I just found out myself. Look, you can either ride it out or step off here. I'll even refund your ticket. Minus a 10% cut, of course."

More grumbling, but no one moved.

Lucas's eyes flicked across the room, scanning the crowd. A flicker in his vision—his contact lens overlay kicking in, processing data. One figure stood out.

Tall. Hooded. Sitting alone.

Ticket Details—

Name: Rubert Zeloski

Origin: C85-V, C system

Blood Type: O-

Employment: None

Destination: E81-B

Lucas lingered on the name. No red flags. Just another guy on the move. Still… something about him felt off.

He turned back to the group. "We take off in thirty minutes. Buckle up."

As he walked away, Rubert lifted his head, watching him go.

Flight Deck

Trax hummed under his feet, aligning to the new coordinates. The AI chirped in his ear, her voice smooth, familiar.

"Lucas, all preflight checks are complete. Ready to initiate departure sequence."

"Thanks, Lilly."

Lilly was his AI assistant. Had been for years. Why the name? No idea. Just stuck.

"The only one I can trust on this rust bucket," he muttered.

Lilly responded, her tone light. "That's sweet, Lucas. Sentimental, even."

"Yeah, don't get used to it."

Onscreen, a countdown ticked down. The wormhole gate flickered to life ahead—a swirling vortex of light and compressed space, unstable but controlled.

"Five… four… three… two… one."

The ship lurched forward, swallowed whole by the wormhole.

Inside, the view was a mesmerizing blur—stars stretched into infinite ribbons, time bending, the ship hurtling through an artificial tunnel of folded space.

Then, with a gut-punch jolt, they were spit out into a new system.

Lilly chimed in. "Welcome to A0. The Colonial Authority has been notified of our arrival."

Lucas sighed. "And the next jump?"

"48-hour delay. The E system is overloaded."

Lucas groaned. "Figures. Any available docking?"

"There's a landing spot, but… you won't like it."

"Why?"

"They're not offering orbital docking. You have to land on Earth."

Lucas exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. "Well. Shit."

From the viewport, Earth loomed in the distance.

Lucas leaned back, cracking his knuckles.

"Guess I should see what all the fuss is about."

Trax hovered in Earth's orbit, caught in the thin line between space and sky. Below, the planet stretched out in its vast, quiet beauty—greens, blues, and wisps of white clouds drifting over oceans.

It looked untouched. Peaceful.

Nothing like Miner's Planet. No lingering ships. No Colonial Authority patrols. Just emptiness.

Lucas stood by the viewport, arms crossed. A planet he had never set foot on before. The birthplace of their species.

"First time seeing Earth up close," he murmured. "Looks like a painting."

A beat of silence. Then Lilly's voice came over the comms.

"Preparing for planetary entry. This will put significant stress on Trax—friction, G-force. Possible system malfunctions. Ensuring passenger safety is advised."

Lucas sighed. "I'll handle it."

Lilly began the descent.

Trax shifted. The hull plates reconfigured, rearranging like an ancient puzzle box. The bulky, block-like structure streamlined into something built for flight—sharp edges, aerodynamics taking shape.

Lucas strapped in, feeling the familiar weight settle on his chest as the ship leaned forward.

"This is why I avoid landing on planets," he muttered. "It's expensive."

"Earth's gravity is currently 9.8 meters per second squared," Lilly reported.

The passengers braced against the rising G-force. Some groaned. Others sat in tight-lipped silence. Lucas barely flinched.

The ship pushed through the mesosphere, then the stratosphere.

Then—

A warning alarm.

Lucas's hands tightened on the controls.

"Lilly?"

"One of the main thrusters has failed."

The descent picked up speed.

A curse slipped through Lucas's teeth. He checked the readouts—fast. Too fast. At this rate, they'd be a fireball before they ever saw the ground.

"Lilly, full control. Now."

A flight stick snapped into place beside him. He grabbed it, knuckles whitening, and pulled back.

The ship groaned, metal straining against inertia. The hull shifted again, trying to compensate for the loss of propulsion.

The passengers felt it too.

Fear crept into the cabin. Questions rose. "What's happening?!"

But one man—Rubert Zeloski—remained motionless.

Lucas wrestled with the controls, eyes scanning for options.

An ocean.

His fingers twitched.

"Lilly, analyze impact force if we attempt a water landing."

"At current velocity, it will be the equivalent of hitting reinforced concrete."

"Great."

He thought fast. If he reversed thrust now, it'd rip the engines apart. If he pulled up too hard, he'd stall and spiral.

No good options.

Then—an idea.

"Reconfigure mass distribution. Move the engines downward. Shift all non-essential weight to the lower hull."

A pause.

"That maneuver has a high probability of structural failure."

"Better odds than crashing headfirst."

"Understood."

Trax shifted again. The hull moved, recalibrating balance mid-air.

The ocean loomed closer.

Lucas took a slow breath. "Alright. Let's take a sip. No, a dip."

The ship tilted slightly.

Then it hit.

The first impact sent a shudder through the frame. The inertia nearly yanked the controls from his hands.

The second impact bent metal.

The third almost flipped them.

Lucas held steady. The ship bounced, skipped over the water's surface like a flat stone. Each contact bled speed until, finally—

Trax drifted to a halt, floating.

Lucas sagged back in his seat.

A long silence.

Then Lilly's voice. "Landing successful. Status report: hull integrity compromised but stable. Engines damaged. Fuel reserves low. Twelve passengers deceased."

Lucas exhaled sharply. The number sat heavy in his chest.

He unbuckled, stood, and made his way to the passenger cabin.

The air was thick. Heavy with something more than just shock—grief, fear, anger.

The room was a mess. Seats torn from bolts. Bodies pinned between twisted metal. Blood on the walls.

A man lunged at Lucas, grabbing his collar. "Are you insane?! You nearly killed us all!"

Lucas didn't react. His eyes swept over the wreckage.

An old man slumped forward in his seat, a thin trickle of red staining his shirt. A young woman lay crushed between broken steel. Another passenger sat frozen, eyes blank, lips slightly parted—still breathing, but lost.

He had no justification. No excuse.

But before he could speak—

Rubert Zeloski stood.

A thick, cloth-wrapped bundle rested against his shoulder.

"They're coming," he said. "Zod's patrol is already inbound."

Slowly, he pulled back his hood.

Scarred face. Braided hair. Dark skin.

Lucas froze.

Recognition hit.

He broke the fourth wall. "How did I miss this?"

His contact lens scanned, confirming the truth.

A genetically modified soldier. Engineered for war.

A weapon in human form.

They called them—

"A Zenith," Lucas whispered.

His gaze flickered to the bundle in the man's hands.

Not cargo. Not supplies.

A weapon.

His voice barely held. "You're the sword master. Leon Alzera."

The name sent a ripple through the cabin.

Rubert was a lie.

Leon Alzera—the Zenith—stood before him.

And then—

A low vibration trembled through the ship.

Lucas turned to the viewport.

Three white, jet-like crafts hovered in formation, locking Trax in place.

Nowhere to run.

Lucas exhaled through his teeth.

"Well. Shit."

The structure stood vast and pristine, carved entirely from white marble. Pillars stretched toward the sky, smooth as glass, reminiscent of the grand temples of ancient Greece and Rome. The architecture was a masterpiece—elegant, timeless. Clean. Untouched.

Lush greenery crept along its edges, weaving through the cracks of the old world and the new. Sunlight filtered through the open archways, casting long shadows along the polished floors.

A man walked through the great hall.

He moved with purpose, unhurried, as if time bent to his will. His loose white shirt and flowing pants rippled with every step. He was large, broad-shouldered, his presence filling the space. A thick mustache sat above his lips, a neatly trimmed beard framing his face. His features were sharp, unmistakably Asian—Korean descent, by the look of him.

But it was his aura that commanded attention.

Power clung to him. The kind of presence that made men kneel before him without a word being spoken. He did not need guards. He did not need an army.

He was the empire.

He stepped forward and took his place on the throne. The massive chair welcomed him like an old friend. He settled in, rolling his shoulders. Bones cracked—neck, spine, fingers. A sharp, satisfying release.

Then—

A sound.

Boots pounding against the marble floors.

A figure rushed toward the throne, weaving through the grand columns. His uniform was sleek, futuristic—black and red, reinforced with bulletproof plating, a fusion of armor and advanced tech.

One of Zod's soldiers.

He reached the throne and dropped to one knee, bowing low.

"Emperor Zod. My deepest apologies for the intrusion. But I bring urgent news."

The emperor barely moved. He rested his cheek against one hand, eyes half-lidded, utterly indifferent.

"Continue."

The soldier took a breath—he had been running.

He steadied himself, forcing the words out.

"Zenith… Leon of Zenith. He has come to Earth. And we have him."

The throne room fell silent.

For the first time, Zod stirred. His fingers curled against the armrest. Slowly, he leaned forward, the disinterest fading from his expression.

And then—he smiled.

"Finally."

His voice was smooth, deep. A whisper laced with something dangerous.

Zod inhaled, filling his lungs, feeling the weight of the moment settle around him.

Then, with a single, quiet command—

"Bring him to me."

The air in the throne room turned heavy. Something was about to begin.

Somewhere in a high security prison. Lucas sat in his cell, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling.

"You know, I should really start planning for these things."

No response.

The prison was cold, dimly lit, with thick metal walls and a single door. Trax was gone. His weapons, gear? Gone. His odds of getting out? Also gone.

Until now.

Because the door slid open.

And in walked her.

Lucas frowned. He didn't recognize her.

She was tall, elegant, and carried herself with a quiet confidence that screamed importance. She wore a tight-fitting outfit, futuristic yet refined—something straight out of The Expanse or Cowboy Bebop. Long dark hair, piercing eyes, not a single wasted movement.

Lucas sat up a little. "Uh. Do I know you?"

She studied him for a moment. "No."

Lucas waited for more, but she just stood there.

Okay. Mysterious. Cool. He could work with that.

"Well, you obviously know me," he said, gesturing around the cell. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be wasting your time here. So, are you here to kill me, bribe me, or confess your undying love?"

Her expression didn't change. "None of the above."

Lucas clicked his tongue. "Shame. The last one sounded fun."

She stepped closer. "I need your help."

Lucas blinked.

Silence.

Then he grinned. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

She remained unreadable. "I can get you out of here. But in return, you do something for me."

Lucas leaned forward. "Okay, let's hear it."

"Not yet."

His grin faded slightly. "So let me get this straight—you break me out, then tell me what I have to do after? Sounds kinda one-sided, don't you think?"

She finally gave a small smile—just a hint. "No. Because if you break your promise, I'll put you back here myself. Or worse."

Lucas sighed, rubbing his face. "You know, you could've just said 'yes' and saved us a whole lot of time."

She waited.

Lucas exhaled. "Fine. Deal."

A small click.

The door unlocked.

She turned and started walking away, expecting him to follow.

Lucas stood, stretched his arms. "Guess I should see where this goes."

The hall was empty, save for the two of them.

No guards. No audience. No need for them.

A throne of white marble sat at the far end of the chamber, its presence commanding even in silence. Emperor Zod leaned back against it, one hand resting on the armrest, the other twirling a golden ring between his fingers. He looked comfortable. Like a man who already knew the outcome of this meeting.

Across from him stood Leon Alzera.

No longer hiding behind the name Rubert Zeloski.

Even without the weight of his old armor, Leon carried himself with the presence of a warrior long past his prime—but still dangerous. His dark braids were pulled back, revealing a face lined with old scars, each one telling a story of battles fought centuries ago. His stance was relaxed, yet rooted. He had not come to kneel.

The air between them was thick with history.

They had met before. Many times.

And now, here they were again.

Zod exhaled through his nose, eyes sharp as he studied the man before him.

"Four hundred years," he mused. "You've survived for four hundred years, Leon. That's a miracle, considering how many have tried to claim your head."

Leon didn't answer. He simply watched.

Zod's lips curled. "And yet, here you are. In front of me. No more running. No more hiding. I wonder…" He tilted his head. "Did you finally get tired?"

Leon let out a small breath—not quite a chuckle, but something close.

"Tired?" he echoed. "No. I just knew this was coming."

Zod's smirk widened. "Ah, that's the Leon I remember. Always pretending to be five steps ahead of everyone else." He tapped a finger against his temple. "But this time, it wasn't you who set the board. I did."

Leon's gaze drifted toward the massive windows behind the throne. Through them, the city stretched out—Earth's capital, its towering spires, and neon-lit streets. A world he had not stepped foot on for lifetimes.

He turned back to Zod. "You don't want me, do you?"

Zod grinned. "No."

A pause. Then, Leon spoke the truth aloud.

"You want my sword."

The words hung between them, undeniable.

Zod exhaled, shaking his head. "You know, I always admired that about you, Leon. You never lied to yourself." He leaned forward slightly. "But yes. I want it. And we both know it won't let me wield it unless I prove myself worthy."

Leon stared at him, expression unreadable. "So that's what this is."

Zod nodded. "A deathmatch. You and me. No tricks. No interference. A real fight, just like the old days." He spread his arms. "Winner takes everything."

Leon glanced down at his sword, still wrapped in thick cloth. "You really believe you're worthy of it?"

Zod's eyes burned with something dangerous. "I'll prove it."

A long silence.

Leon closed his eyes for a moment. He wasn't afraid of death. He had danced with it too many times. He had killed for kings, fought for tyrants, been used as a weapon by those who sought power.

He had regrets. More than he could count.

But he had one last choice left.

When he opened his eyes, they were steady.

"No," Leon said. "I quit fighting."

Zod smiled.

"Then you're wasting the great weapon in your possession."

Leon looked straight into Zod's eyes. That he was telling the truth right now.

Zod, "well, well. You may have quit fighting but the promise you made years ago. I can't forget that and until time, space and you exist in the universe. You should fulfill it."

Leon, "I don't remember."

"Lieyer…" sound mowled through the hall. It was deep and there was anger in it.

"Don't lie to me."

Zod from his throne, he walked to Leon.

"You remember the promise you made me a century ago, I can read it from your face. "

They both looked in the eyes. And Leon, well he knew he didn't have any escape plan that time. He sighs.

"I will fight you. If I win…"

He looked at Zod, he needed to carefully thread what he was going to say.

"You're going to leave me with the same pilot and ship I've come from."

Zod, "I thought you were going to ask me my Empire. "

It was clean. Beautiful. Rows of houses, neatly kept, untouched by time.

The door unlocked with a quiet click. A proper lock. Secure. No ordinary break-in.

Silvia stepped inside first. Behind her, two figures followed.

One was Lucas—dressed in his usual gear, looking none the worse for wear. His equipment was back, but his contact lens was still missing.

"Well it was destoyed by Zod's soldiers. What can I do, and it's going to cost me."

The other was a soldier of Zod's patrol—suited in red-and-black armor, futuristic and intimidating. His helmet covered his face entirely, making him look more machine than man.

Lucas stepped inside,

But…

"Why does no one stay here?" he muttered.

No answer.

The three of them entered.

The house felt… different. Warm wooden floors. Sunlight pouring through large, spotless windows. The kind of place that shouldn't exist in a world filled with metal and concrete.

Lucas took a deep breath. "This place is nice."

Silence.

"Still wondering why no one's staying here?" He looked at the soldier, waiting for an answer.

The soldier turned his head toward Silvia. Silvia turned toward the soldier.

Lucas grinned. "You two having a telepathic conversation or what?"

Silvia sighed, already annoyed.

"You can talk to him. And take off the helmet. No one's going to know you broke out a prisoner."

The soldier's helmet shifted, retracting seamlessly into the suit. Underneath, he had blonde hair, sharp features, young—American, by the looks of him.

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Well, you're cute."

Silvia shut it down immediately. "We don't have time for useless chatter. We need to get off this planet as soon as possible."

Lucas ignored her. "What's your name?"

The soldier hesitated. "You can call me Edward."

Lucas squinted. "You look like an Edward." He nodded to himself. "Bro absolutely looks like a film star. Now I'm jealous."

Fourth wall, shattered.

Silvia exhaled. She did not have time for this.

Lucas, on the other hand, was making himself right at home.

He walked through the house, running his fingers over the polished surfaces, appreciating the craftsmanship. A place like this felt ancient. Preserved. Like a museum exhibit still stuck in time.

Silvia kept her eyes on him. "Don't touch anything. This place is preserved—historical."

Lucas ignored her. He wandered into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge.

Silence.

He stared inside.

Then nodded to himself. "Now I understand why no one's here."

The fridge was off. Empty. A perfect relic of the past.

Lucas looked back at them. "This thing looks better than the one in Trax."

Silvia and Edward just stared at him.

Not a single ounce of seriousness in him.

Lucas shrugged. "What?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "Don't be a free spirit. We've got work."

Then his expression shifted—his gaze unfocused slightly, as if listening to something no one else could hear.

Lucas noticed immediately. "What's with the face, Eddie? You getting a message from the mothership?"

Edward frowned. "Zod is having a deathmatch with Leon."

Silvia's body went rigid. "What?"

Lucas burst into laughter. "Oh… oh… oh." He stepped forward, grinning. "Your dear Emperor Zod has his eyes on the prize, huh?"

Silvia turned to him, sharp. "How do you know that?"

Lucas tilted his head. "Because I listen." He gestured vaguely. "I've been around. Leon's been hunted for decades, and it's never been about him. It's about his weapon."

Edward crossed his arms. "And if he unleashes it here on Earth, what do you think will happen?"

Lucas's smile didn't fade. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"The sword is called Doom of Asaris." His tone was almost mocking. "What do you think it means?"

Silvia wasn't listening anymore. She was already moving toward the door.

"We need to get to the sword before the match begins."

She grabbed the handle.

Edward stopped her.

"We're late."

Silvia turned, eyes narrowing.

Edward exhaled, reading the latest update in his visor. "The match already started. They're up there, fighting. The sword is with Leon."

Lucas squinted. "Where are you getting this information, dude?"

A pause.

Then Lucas snapped his fingers. "Seriously, he's faster than Lilly."

Edward gave him a confused look. "What did you just say?"

Lucas smirked. "Nothing."

Silvia had heard enough.

She turned to Lucas. "You. Get moving. You're our ride. We're leaving this place with the Doom of Asaris and its wielder."

To be continued...