In the days when humanity believed it reigned supreme over a solar system of eight planets, curiosity led them beyond, to neighboring systems thought uninhabited. This hubris ignited a devastating war with a formidable, inhuman race – the Interlopers.

On Earth, nestled among ruins that once symbolized mankind's glory, lived Jorah, a historian who remembered the world before its fall. As he shuffled through the decrepit streets, his eyes scanned the remnants of an old world. Buildings lay in tatters, their once proud structures now homes to the refuse and decay left by the Interlopers. The stench of sewage mixed with an acrid, metallic tang that stung his nostrils, a constant reminder of the oppressive reign.

"Jorah!" called out a voice, strained yet familiar. Mira, a fellow historian, approached him, her face etched with the weariness of their reality. "Another uprising quelled in Sector 7. The Interlopers are relentless."

Jorah nodded, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, where the sun's weak light barely penetrated the polluted skies. "And yet, we survive, Mira. As we always have."

Their conversation was cut short by a sudden, ground-shaking rumble. The skies above, usually a dull grey, were split by a brilliant light. The Sentinels had arrived, heralding a new dawn. With god-like abilities and superhuman strength, they descended upon Earth, their immense intelligence a stark contrast to the brute force of the Interlopers.

Mira's eyes widened in awe and fear. "The Sentinels... they've come for us?"

Jorah watched as the Sentinels, leading a legion of Bellicose soldiers, clashed with the Interlopers. The battle was fierce, the outcome uncertain. Yet, as dust settled, humanity emerged, not victorious, but freed.

In the aftermath, the Interlopers were driven back to their planet, Ara, extending a plea for peace. Some, however, remained on Earth, reduced to a shadow of their former selves, kept as pets or symbols of humanity's resurgence. But beneath the surface, plots of rebellion simmered, threatening the fragile balance.

The Sentinels, though liberators, were not benevolent. They tasked the Hominins with tending their crops and sustaining their planets, Eminence and Vantage. Humanity, once rulers of their domain, found themselves in a different kind of servitude. The fields Jorah toiled in were a far cry from the libraries he once cherished, the knowledge of the past buried under layers of soil and Sentinel demands.

As Jorah returned to his humble abode, a rationed meal awaiting him, he pondered the cost of their 'salvation.' The streets were cleaner, the air slightly fresher, but at what price? In the silence of his room, surrounded by ancient books and relics of a bygone era, he wondered about the future. A future where humanity might rise again, not as conquerors, but as equals among the stars.

Present Day

The fabric of peace, so painstakingly woven, was unraveling. The Interlopers, once subdued, were stirring, their rebellion fanning the flames of chaos throughout the systems. Crime spiked, and with the burgeoning Hominin population, the strain on resources was palpable. Amidst this turmoil, the Sentinels had appointed a ruler - King Cornel.

King Cornel, a figure both revered and feared, ruled over the solar systems with an iron grip veiled in velvet. Contrary to what many believed, his heart was not made of stone; his concern for his subjects was genuine, even if he rarely showed it. In the grand hall, where stars seemed to converge, Cornel sat on his throne for hours each day, attending to the myriad issues that plagued the cosmos.

Beside him, his son and heir, Torell, shared his father's burden, but with a touch more empathy - a trait some whispered was a sign of weakness. The air in the throne room was heavy with responsibility as Torell broached a pressing issue. "Father, the soil on the Hominins' planet... it's deteriorating. We can't ignore this," he said with a sense of urgency.

Cornel, ever the stoic leader, responded, "We have entrusted the Hominins to manage such matters. However, it might be time for our council to assess the situation."

Torell hesitated, then said, "May I suggest—"

Cornel interjected firmly, "No. It's too dangerous for you to journey to Earth. Even the Bellicose soldiers take extensive precautions. You are the future king, and I cannot risk your safety."

Torell's response was tinged with defiance. "You assume I wish to be king."

"You are my only heir," Cornel stated matter-of-factly.

Torell's voice dropped to a whisper, charged with emotion. "We both know that's not the entire truth." With those words, he stormed out of the throne room, leaving Cornel alone with his thoughts.

The king lowered his head, cradling it in his hands. His mind wandered to a face he had never seen, a part of him that remained unknown. The weight of his crown felt heavier in that moment, the burden of unspoken truths and hidden scars pressing down on him.

Torell, his strides betraying his inner turmoil, came to an abrupt halt as he encountered Kia, his wife. Her concern was immediate and evident. "Oh, my future king, what troubles you?" she inquired, her voice laced with tenderness.

He bristled at the title. "Stop calling me that," he snapped, more harshly than intended.

Kia's expression softened, her hand reaching up to caress his cheek, an attempt to ease his distress. "I'm sorry, love. Tell me, what's weighing on your heart?" she asked gently.

Torell exhaled, the fight in his voice deflating into weariness. "It's the Hominins... they're struggling, and I feel powerless. I'm constantly told what to do, where to be. I want to do more, to truly help."

Kia nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes. "The Hominins are always in need, and your father... perhaps he's grown weary of their constant plight."

Torell's gaze hardened with resolve. "It doesn't matter. We made a vow to protect them. Maybe the real threat they face is from us," he mused aloud.

Kia, with a hopeful smile, suggested, "When you're king, you could change everything. You have the power to make a difference."

The notion seemed to stir a deep-seated rebellion within him. "But I don't want the throne. I believe I can do more good on Earth, using my abilities to rejuvenate their land, to help them stand on their own," he said passionately.

Kia, ever pragmatic, countered, "If not you, then who? Your Uncle Marcel? Or your impulsive cousin Cell? You're far more suited to rule than either of them."

Torell's eyes, however, held a secret, a flicker of an unspoken truth. "There's someone else," he murmured, almost to himself.

Kia's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "Who? Who else is there?" she pressed, her curiosity piqued.

Torell looked away, the corridors of the palace reflecting his inner conflict. "It's a truth long buried," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "A secret my father and I have kept... a secret about my lineage."

Kia, her mind racing with possibilities, waited for him to continue. But Torell remained silent, the secret hanging between them like a star waiting to ignite.

Torell paced the room, lost in thought, when suddenly the door swung open. King Cornel entered, his presence commanding yet gentle. "Good morning, Kia, you look radiant as always," he greeted, offering a courtly kiss to her hand.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Kia replied with a graceful smile.

Cornel turned his attention to Torell. "I need a word with my son. Kia, could you please check on Labia? My wife has been under the weather," he said with a hint of concern.

Kia nodded, excusing herself with a polite, "As you wish."

Once alone, Cornel addressed Torell, his voice laced with paternal authority. "What do you hope to achieve by leaving Eminence? You're not a Bellicose, but your spirit for battle is undeniable."

Torell, standing tall before his father, confessed his vision. "I believe I can safeguard the human race more effectively on the ground. My place is among those who need our protection the most."

The King studied his son, a mix of pride and concern in his eyes. "And your sister? Do you think she desires this role you're so hesitant to embrace?"

Torell's eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I'm not sure, but with my coronation a year away, I can prepare her to take the throne in my stead."

Cornel raised an eyebrow. "And what of Kia? Will she support this plan? She might have her own aspirations to be queen."

"I'll make sure she's ready," Torell replied, his determination unwavering.

The King nodded slowly. "Very well. If you can ensure she passes all tests and gains the respect and love of the Sentinels, elders, and Bellicose, I will consent. But be warned – your sister's human heritage will be seen as a blemish. It's a risk she must understand."

Torell's face lit up with a mixture of relief and excitement. "Understood, father."

Cornel continued, "I'll arrange for Hawk and Viper to accompany you. They're not only the best but your friends too. And Cell will join for political reasons."

He embraced his son, a rare display of affection. "Be wise, Torell. And be safe."

As his father left, Torell hurried to pack, his heart racing with anticipation and the weight of the immense task ahead.

The Outcast

Cell

"Outcast" – a term so often associated with those shunned by society. And it has clung to me like a shadow, defining my very existence. Am I an outcast by nature or by society's design? This eternal paradox haunts me, leaving me suspended between feeling undead and yet acutely alive.

My life has never strayed from the path of isolation. Born into the politics of godship, I was molded by my father's ambitions. He thrust every law and decree upon me, shaping me not into his successor, but into his weapon. His heartless nature seeped into my bones, rendering me as cold as him.

One morning, his voice pierced my thoughts. "Have you consulted the seer recently?"

I replied with a tinge of contempt, "No, I'm tired of her cryptic words."

He persisted, his eyes glinting with a mix of greed and anticipation. "Cell, you mustn't disregard her. She prophesied our ascent to power. With Torell's abdication, I'm poised to seize the crown, and you – to become a prince."

Reluctantly, I agreed to see the seer, to affirm this so-called destiny of ours. The palace walls receded behind me as I journeyed to meet the Underground Seer. Seers, once revered in the palace, were now banished, their prophecies deemed too dangerous among the gods.

Sitting before the aged, withered seer, her presence was unsettling, yet compelling. "You've returned alone," she observed.

I cut straight to the point. "Does my future still herald power?"

Her response was enigmatic. "It hinges on you."

Impatient, I pressed for clarity. "I have no time for riddles."

"Very well," she conceded. "Promise to reinstate me as your royal seer, protect my people from the Bellicose, and I will reveal your path."

I agreed without hesitation, desperate for answers.

"Your rise to power," she began, "is tied to love. You must fall for a girl who bears the right to the crown."

Her words struck me like a jolt. Love? An emotion foreign and distasteful to me. "This is a mockery. Who is she?" I demanded.

"The King's daughter," she revealed with a cryptic smile.

Disbelief washed over me. "The King has no daughter."

Her smile widened, but she offered no further explanation. As I left, her words echoed in my mind. Love – an emotion I had long shunned, convinced it was beyond my reach. If love was the key to power, it was a door I believed would remain forever closed to me.

As I navigated through the bustling streets of the city, the disdain in the eyes of the townspeople was palpable. Their whispers and sneers were as familiar to me as my own reflection.

"Did Daddy let you out of the Palace Walls to find your own kind?" jeered a man from the crowd. His words, laced with scorn, were meant to wound, but I kept my pace steady, unaffected on the surface.

"He is no Sentinel, but yet he lives like one," murmured another voice, barely audible above the din of the city.

These whispers, these cruel words, were the soundtrack of my life as an outcast. The relentless shame hurled my way was a constant reminder of my place in this world – or rather, my lack of one. Each mocking stare, every disdainful comment, only served to reinforce the wall I had built around myself.

The irony wasn't lost on me; I found a bitter agreement with the citizens of Eminence. I didn't belong here. Their prejudice mirrored my own feelings of alienation. And now, with the seer's prophecy hanging over me, the notion of finding belonging through love seemed like a cruel joke. If love was the key to acceptance, to power, then my disdain for life only deepened.

I trudged on, the weight of my destiny a heavy cloak upon my shoulders. The streets of Eminence, with their glimmering lights and shadowed corners, felt more like a labyrinth designed to keep me lost, forever searching for a place I was never meant to find.