Rezaaran stepped through the broken doors into the bright, winter sun. Although it did not warm him, it banished the darkness of his nightmares and for the moment, that sufficed. He squinted as he adjusted to the light and drew his tattered rags tighter to fend off the bitter cold. He walked the familiar path without thinking where he was going, knowing his feet would get him there as he readied his mind for another day in the depths of Mar-Karatheer.

   Mar-Karatheer was a desolate rock. However, beneath its surface lay a wealth of ore and precious metals. Of particular interest was the abundance of a unique form of Glanice, the superior fuel used throughout the galaxy. Despite this common knowledge, large-scale mining was not permissible under a ruling by the Galactic House of Governance. The five‑hundred‑and‑second Minerals and Energy Convention ruled that Mar-Karatheer was not conducive to a healthy working environment because of the sub-surface radioactivity levels. Furthermore, the Glanitian ore existed as a volatile and toxic isomer. Universally available technology could distill the ore, but the health hazards to the miners made the issue non-negotiable. However, when the Obsidian Dominion wrested control from the Galactic House of Governance, they favored expansion over preservation. The slave trade provided them with an endless supply of expendable workers to mine any manner of ore that would drive their war machine onwards.

   The Dominion was an affliction upon the galaxy. Spurred by their greed and ambition, their spread was relentless. Without exception, the Dominion would either subjugate or annihilate any opposition. Their leader was the mysterious Lord Silvermire. Although never seen, his name evoked fear in all that had heard tales of his dark nature. However, to invoke the presence of this terror, a civilization would have to show tremendous resilience to the invading forces. The Harbingers led the assault on every planet and because Lord Silvermire had personally trained each of them, they knew better than to summon him frivolously.

   The spoils of the Dominion’s conquests included all planets and civilians they encountered. They preferred children rather than adults to work in the mines. Children were easier to control and able to deliver a better mileage.

   

Rezaaran arrived on Mar-Karatheer two years after the invasion of Zenor. Although the past ninety-two years had been unkind to him, he had endured the slavery and the dangers of the mines. Being a Zenorian, he outlived the other slaves. For the typical Zenorian, a lifespan of at least three hundred and fifty years was expected. In addition to his slow aging, Rezaaran also displayed an accelerated regenerative capacity. This had caught the attention of the slave master who found Rezaaran to be the perfect target for his drunken beatings. His rapid healing allowed him to recover completely from the beatings and never experience radiation sickness from being in the mines. However, to the young Zenorian, this healing was fate’s way of shackling him to this hell. Death would have been a fortuitous reprieve, but it was not an option available to Rezaaran.

   Friends were a luxury that Rezaaran often wished for but had difficulty attaining. The first shipment of slaves that arrived was easy enough to befriend. Their fear of the uncertain created a bond among them. However, as he outlived the coffles that drained through Mar-Karatheer, the rumours began to arise. What people could not understand, they began to fear, and contempt was not far behind. Some slaves remained friendly to Rezaaran, but Jet Bal Sara was the only one who really left a lasting impression. Since Jet had left, Rezaaran did not place much importance on friendship. He chose to bury his mind deep in his work, hoping to pass his days until he glimpsed an opportunity. He knew that if he could gain so much as a sliver of a chance, he would seize it as swiftly as Jet had.

   Rezaaran held his pick in his heavily wrapped hands as he walked down the tunnel to his cavern. His eyes carefully scanned the rocky walls, seeking the luminous blue glint of the Glanitian isomer. A glimmer on an outcrop caught his attention, and he allowed himself a smile; he would have a half-decent share of rations tonight. The slavers offered food as an incentive to the miners. The food was never good, mostly it was stale, but the miners that brought in Glanitian ore generally ate the best. Of course, this led to the stronger slaves bullying the weak to gain their share of the spoils of the day. Rezaaran always avoided them by working in the more dangerous caverns. He had just prised the large chunk of ore free when he heard the worst of the bullies call out to him.

   “Well, that’s a nice piece of shiny you got there. I’m sure you’ll be dining like a king tonight.”

   “Leave me alone, Drognak,” Rezaaran replied mirthlessly as he pocketed the ore.

   Drognak was a Halcarian slave. His past twenty years at Mar-Karatheer had been unkind to him. Each vicious beating destroyed what little innocence existed within his heart until the child was lost to a darker monster. Now he terrorized the other slaves within the dank caverns of the mines. Together with his cronies, they would prowl the tunnels, seeking any easy targets to shake down.

   Rezaaran always avoided them, never wanting trouble. He neither knew nor cared what the names were of the other two, but he knew that he was about to meet the trouble he had evaded for so long. He rested his pick on his shoulder as he scanned the rest of the cavern, hoping that Drognak would move on to someone else.

   “We’d better watch out, boys. Seems the little punk has a big weapon there.”

   His two cronies chuckled as Rezaaran turned to face the three of them. He rested his hands on the shaft of his pick and looked Drognak straight in the eye.

   “Trust me. I don’t need this blunt tool to kick your ass. However, unlike you, I take no pleasure in beating little kids.”

   “Who are you calling little kids?” Drognak seemed marginally offended. “I’ve heard the rumours. Some say you’re at least a hundred years old.”

   “That sounds about right.”

   Rezaaran kept his attention on Drognak but was not oblivious to his cronies that were closing in on him.

   “Well, you don’t look any older than eighteen, and you will do well respecting your elders. Get him, boys!”

Rezaaran flung the pick into the chest of the approaching goon. He dodged a wild punch, countering with an elbow to the second crony’s chest. He straightened up, and Drognak struck him in the face with his furry fist. As Rezaaran held his nose to stop the bleeding, someone struck him in the ribs with the handle of his pick.

   The two henchmen restrained Rezaaran against the walls of the cavern, while Drognak threateningly cracked his knuckles. He wore a menacing smile as he approached the Zenorian, but Rezaaran remained unflinching. He looked Drognak in the eye before he spat blood into his face.

   “You are really going to regret doing that, you Zenorian filth. If only your father was here to see this. Oh, I’m sure he’d be proud that his little boy is squealing for mercy.”

   Drognak slammed his fist into Rezaaran’s stomach. The Zenorian gasped for breath, spitting his blood onto the floor. As he caught his breath, he simply laughed at the Halcarian.

   “Is that the best that the fearsome Drognak has?”

   Drognak snarled and struck Rezaaran once more in the midriff. He stepped back and surveyed the Zenorian who was still chuckling. He was obviously masking his anguish.

   “You definitely have spirit boy. I’ll give you that much. Maybe if your father had a smidge of that, he wouldn’t have sold you into slavery.”

   The Zenorian’s laughter stopped. He fixed a stiff glare upon the Halcarian.

   “Ah, I seem to have struck a nerve there.”

   “Watch yourself, Drognak.”

   “Keep your threats. I’m going to beat you worse than Hatara, and when I’m done, even your gutless father won’t recognise you.”

   Drognak unleashed a series of punches upon Rezaaran’s face and torso. He rammed his knee into the Zenorian’s stomach and let his victim slide to the floor. The Halcarian reached down and picked up the ore that had fallen from Rezaaran’s pocket.

   “This would have been a lot easier if you had just handed this to me, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy beating you to a pulp. I wonder if Hatara will bother coming to look for your corpse here.”

   Rezaaran looked at the Halcarian’s sneering face through the haze of his swollen eye. The sound of a falling rock and a gasp behind them caught the attention of everyone in the cavern. They looked back and saw a child staring at them.

   “Looks like it’s your lucky day,” Drognak snarled as he released Rezaaran. “Come on boys, that little shit is holding our supper in his hands. Let’s get it!”

   For a fraction of a second, Drognak’s feline visage bore the same predatory malice as the soldier that had destroyed Rezaaran’s family. In that instant, he knew that Drognak would not hurt this child, not if he had anything to say about it.

Rezaaran could feel his pulse quickening. Blood throbbing through his brain washed away the grogginess from his 

beating as adrenaline flooded his body. He slowly rose, feeling as though a powerful force was acting through him.

The haze around his eye was abating, and he could feel the swelling reversing. He drew himself to his full height and turned his head.

   “Drognak, leave the boy alone! He is no threat to you.”

   The Halcarian ignored him and continued his menacing prowl towards the terrified child.

   “I’m warning you, Drognak, leave him alone. Now!”

   “I’d like to see you stop me, Zenorian.”

   Rezaaran looked at the boy. He was petrified. His fear had rooted him to the ground. It was a feeling the Zenorian knew all too well. The boy’s attention remained fixed on Drognak’s yellow eyes. His lip began to quiver as the Halcarian drew his fist back threateningly.

   Suddenly, Drognak stopped moving. His fist remained in the air, but he was unable to hit the child.

   “What the hell is this?”

   “I warned you to leave him alone, Drognak.”

   The Halcarian felt himself turning against his will to face the Zenorian. Although it was happening before his very eyes, he could not believe it. Every injury he had inflicted upon Rezaaran had disappeared. By the dim light of the cavern, he saw the last cut on the Zenorian’s face closing.

   “Let me go, you freak!”

   “It’s not much fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it? What? Is the big, bad Halcarian going to cry?”

   “No, he’s going to come over there and kick your ass again, you sorry shit!”

   “No, you’re not,” Rezaaran replied smugly. He telekinetically lifted Drognak off the ground and flung him to the back of the cavern. The Halcarian slammed into the rocky wall and slumped to the ground.

Rezaaran looked at his cronies, who each fixed a snarl on the Zenorian. He knew they were angry, but he could also sense their fear.

   “Fellas,” he said slyly as he beckoned them to attack. The pair of thugs charged towards the Zenorian, but he held his ground. Sparks formed over his electropads and flowed into orbs of crackling electricity. Rezaaran spun around and flung an orb into the chest of each thug, stunning them on impact. He aimed his hand towards Drognak’s unconscious body and psychically lifted the ore that he had found earlier. The Zenorian directed the ore towards the scared child who looked at the alien apprehensively.

   “Don’t be scared, kid. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you,” Rezaaran said softly with a kind smile. “Hand this ore in at collection time tonight. It should get you a good meal.”

   This appeared to win the boy’s trust. He reached up and picked the ore out of the air. Sliding it into his pocket, he looked at Rezaaran and gave him a grateful smile.

   “Thanks a lot, mister!”

   The boy ran off, leaving Rezaaran alone in the cavern. He could feel his anger abating and being slowly replaced by a warmth of satisfaction. It was good to know that one person would suffer a little less tonight because of him. He heard one of Drognak’s cronies rousing.

   “Unfortunately, I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you.”

He pushed the thug into the wall, knocking him unconscious. It had been some time since he had last used his powers, and it felt good to vent some of his pent-up frustration. Rezaaran turned around and looked into the vacant eye of a sentry drone.

   “Aggressor has been identified. Prepare to be neutralised, Slave 1158238.”

   The robot struck Rezaaran in the chest with a low-voltage jolt until he passed out.

   

Sometime later, Rezaaran awoke in a dank room to the sound of slow, dripping water. He roused slowly as he tried to take in his surroundings in his disorientated stupor. He was not sure how the sentry drone had found him, but he knew he was in quarantine for his fight with Drognak. That meant no food for the next five days.

   “I hope you’re pleased with yourself, Zenorian. If you’d just given us that damn rock, we wouldn’t be in this hole.”

   “Oh, shut it, Drognak! Your brutish ways are the only reason all of us are in this mess.”

   “When I get out of this cell, I’m going to teach you some manners, you filthy Zenorian scum! Without your freakish abilities, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

   “I could say the same for your chances with those two idiots at your side. I suggest you bring an army. You’re going to need one if you want to go another round with me.”

   Rezaaran allowed himself a quiet smirk. He could feel Drognak seething from his taunts. The Halcarian began berating his accomplices. Rezaaran closed his eyes and slowly massaged his temples, trying to ease away his fatigue. Suddenly, Drognak’s tirade ceased. The dripping water droplets lingered in mid-air.

   “By the Spirits, what is going on?” Rezaaran looked through the bars of his cell and saw the other three slaves frozen

in time. The Zenorian felt a stirring behind him. He generated an orb of electricity in each hand and spun around. But his surprise bound him to inaction. A person dressed in a silver warrior’s garment stepped through a blue, rippling portal. Reacting instinctively, Rezaaran flung the orbs at the hooded intruder. The warrior easily dodged the wild attack and used the handle of his spear to pull the Zenorian’s feet from under him. Rezaaran hit the ground hard and felt the wind knocked out of him. He looked up and saw another warrior enter through the portal. Based on his ornate armour, Rezaaran assumed that this was a high-ranking official. They were both too small to be Kalaran soldiers, and something about the design of the hooded soldier’s apparel seemed vaguely familiar. The soldier stood to attention as the General approached Rezaaran. He did not know what the leader wanted, but he would not let this apparition harm him. Rezaaran flipped himself to his feet and swung wildly at the General. The soldier caught his punch, surprising Rezaaran with the strength of his grasp.

   Calm your mind, Son of Zenor. We are not going to harm you.

   “I heard your voice in my mind. How did you do that?”

   You have your abilities, and we have ours. We are here to help you.

   “Help me? I don’t even know who you people are.”

   The General’s helmet split down the centre and retracted into his armour, revealing the stern face of a greying soldier with blue eyes. Yet it was the distinctive war paint he wore that caught Rezaaran’s attention.

   “You’re … you’re a Zenorian Royal Guard.”

   “I am glad to see that you remember our people. I was afraid that time in this colony had faded your memory of home. My name is Orin Libranth, General of the Intergalactic Revolution of Independent Systems.”

   “IRIS.” Rezaaran whispered the word in disbelief. He was standing face-to-face with the leader of the fabled rebel faction that had dared to contest the Dominion’s dark rule. “Is he also a Zenorian?”

   “Of course,” Orin replied with a curt nod. “This is Field Commander Gerrin. He is one of my trusted soldiers.”

   Rezaaran looked at the hooded soldier. His head was downcast and he seemed to be concentrating intently.

   “Gerrin has the ability to open rifts in space and time. However, to keep a rift open requires great concentration on his part. He has temporarily frozen time outside of this cell to allow us a moment of privacy.”

   “My father told me that there were people with incredible gifts. People gifted in magic, but I never believed him.”

   Orin remained quiet and fixed his gaze on the young Zenorian’s brown eyes.

   “What do you want from me, Orin? You said that you will help me escape this place, but I assume that you need something from me. I know that in this world nobody offers you help without asking for a favour in return.”

   “There is a war raging beyond this rock. It is spreading like a plague, destroying all worlds in its path. IRIS is all that stands against it, but we need all the help we can get to turn the tide. You have a power that would be a great asset to our organisation.”

   “A power that will be a great asset? Gerrin can freeze time, and you can speak directly into people’s minds. I can only self-heal and move things with my mind. How is that going to win you a war?”

   “You have only scratched the surface of your primal abilities. Your true power runs deeper than you know. I can see it, and in time, you will too. We can show you how to channel your magic and use it for something great. However, all of the training we can give you will not mean a thing if you do not have the courage to take this first step in changing your destiny. So, will you stay in this prison cell, stifled and caged by circumstance, or will you join us and fight this evil?”

   “I want to join you, but I’m not going to leave this slave world to be a prisoner elsewhere.”

   “I phrased that as a question, but it really wasn’t,” explained Orin.

   He placed his hand on Rezaaran’s head and drained a fraction of his energy. The young Zenorian fell limp, and the General carried him through the portal. Gerrin followed his leader, and the portal sealed behind them.

   The droplets of water fell to the ground.