On the other side of the ship, the Baron watched everything through a holographic screen. His eyes were wide, a mixture of surprise and excitement lighting up his face.
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" he asked his assistant, who was equally shocked.
"Yes, sir. It's the boy with the unknown egg."
"Shut up! He killed a Tyrano with his bare hands."
The assistant hesitated before responding. "Sir, I believe he knew the weakness. When we discovered the weak point of that subspecies, we nearly drove them to extinction."
"You're so anticlimactic. Gather the survivors and eject the ones still locked in their rooms into space. I want to see the remaining champions. Hahahaha!" The Baron laughed, visibly elated. "My friends won't believe this story: a boy killing a Tyrano with his bare hands."
As the Baron left the room, his assistant stood motionless, his expression grim. He knew this was only the beginning of the nightmare.
The morning after the massacre, Tyrin woke up with pain radiating through his entire body. At first, the pain felt like a vivid reminder of his fight with the Tyrano. But when he opened his eyes and saw the translucent, glowing ceiling of the recovery compartment, he realized something had changed.
He was no longer in the blood-soaked corridors of the Baron's ship. Instead, he was floating in some kind of recovery tank. The liquid surrounding him was thick, cold, and seemed to pulse against his wounds. Though it gave him a sense of relief, there was something unsettling about being suspended and vulnerable.
The room was filled with identical tanks, but the sight was disturbing. In each tank, young survivors like him were submerged, some missing arms or legs, others with deep bite or claw marks. Some tanks appeared empty, with only remnants floating inside—a silent reminder that not everyone had made it.
Tyrin tried to move, but the restraints held his body immobile, forcing him to remain suspended. The voices of scientists outside the tank caught his attention.
"That boy is special. Not only did he survive, but he managed to kill a Tyrano with his own hands."
"And without the gene activated. That's something we need to investigate further."
Tyrin felt a wave of unease as the scientists approached the tank. The leader of the group, an older man with graying hair, a wrinkled lab coat, and a disturbing grin, peered at him.
"Let's get him out. I want to see with my own eyes what makes this one so special."
A younger scientist hesitated. "Dr. Oko, he's still in the middle of the recovery process. If we pull him out now, his wounds could reopen."
Oko's sharp glare silenced her. "Do you have any other objections? Because if you do, I can ensure you'll end up in the next tank for testing."
"No, sir."
With a curt nod, Oko ordered the tank to be drained. As the liquid was sucked away, Tyrin felt the cold spreading over his body. The discomfort grew as he was removed from the tank and placed on a stretcher.
"So, boy, what's your name?" Oko's voice was sharp but curious.
"Tyrin."
"Well, Tyrin, tell me—how did you manage to defeat a Tyrano without the gene activated? That's something even our best-selected champions can't do."
Still groggy, Tyrin hesitated before responding. "I... read about them. I knew where to strike."
Oko raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Read? You read about them? A boy from a planet forgotten by the Empire?"
Tyrin didn't respond immediately. He didn't trust the man, but he knew he had to be cautious. "My mother was resourceful. She gave me the means to learn. And I'm... good at remembering things I read."
"Eidetic memory. Fascinating. That's something we need to study. It's uncommon even on superior planets. Maybe you're more useful than I thought." Oko's tone was half-mocking, but his genuine interest was evident.
When Oko and the other scientists left, Tyrin finally had a moment to process everything. He felt a wave of relief at no longer being in the hellish corridors of the Baron's ship, but he knew the next phase would be just as deadly. He needed to be ready.
Against orders, he got up from the stretcher, feeling pain radiating from his still-broken arm. Carefully, he fashioned a makeshift splint from materials he found in the room and decided to return to his quarters. He needed a moment away from the questions and prying eyes.
When he returned to the quarters, the reality of the previous day hit him like a punch. Many of the survivors were injured, mutilated. Tyrin, though exhausted and in pain, seemed to be one of the few whose body was still intact. But he knew it hadn't been luck. He had survived because he'd been willing to do the impossible.
The girl he had met on the day they entered the ship was no longer there. He didn't know if she had survived, but the white wolf pup she had carried now sat alone in a corner, waiting for someone who would probably never return.
Tyrin glanced at the egg someone had placed in his locker. He carefully picked it up, feeling its weight and significance. "No matter what happens, I will survive. I'll become stronger. For me. For Frida." With those words lingering in his mind, exhausted and still dizzy, he staggered to his bed and fell asleep.
A shrill alarm woke Tyrin abruptly. His body felt lighter, almost renewed. He touched the arm that had been broken—it still hurt, but it was functional. He leapt to his feet, grabbed his shirt, and retrieved the egg . The egg seemed to pulse faintly in his hands, a strange presence that, somehow, gave him a sense of purpose.
"I hope what happened last time doesn't happen again... if it does, I'm definitely dead."
As he left his room, the scene hit him like a slap. Children were scattered through the corridor, heads bowed and eyes vacant. Some were mutilated: missing arms and legs, their young bodies marked by the brutality they had endured. It was a harsh reminder that what they had faced was only the beginning.
"Alright, boys and girls. I see you've finally realized how this works... or rather, the slaughter."
The firm, arrogant voice cut through the oppressive silence. The speaker, a man in a pristine uniform, bore scars on his face that spoke of experience. He walked down the corridor with firm steps, his eyes scanning each of the survivors.
"Know this: what you faced isn't even considered a pet to the real monsters. Remember that, and follow me."
Tyrin recognized the arrogance in his tone, but he also knew the man was right. The Tyrano he had faced was nothing compared to the true terrors that dominated the invasion stories.
The group walked in silence, following the man through winding corridors, junctions, and dark tunnels. The ship seemed much larger inside than it appeared on the outside. Each step was accompanied by furtive glances between the surviving youths, who barely had the strength to question where they were being taken.
After a long 35 minutes, the man stopped abruptly. He turned to the group, his expression serious, though his eyes shone with something akin to nostalgia.
"You know, kids, I was once in your place. Afraid, cornered, not knowing what would come next. But let me tell you something important: fear will take you nowhere, except to the grave."
He paused, letting his words sink into the minds of the young survivors. Tyrin realized that, despite the man's cold tone, there was something truthful in his words.
"We're approaching our destination. Behold... the Mother."
As the group entered a wider corridor with massive glass windows overlooking space, everyone froze. Outside, floating majestically, was the Mother Ship. It was colossal, a metal monster that seemed to defy the laws of physics and the universe.
"The Mother of all ships is 400 km wide and 50 km long. All the Federation's chosen are gathered there. You are but a grain of sand. Don't act as if you've done anything extraordinary."
Tyrin felt the man's gaze linger on him longer than necessary. It was a clear message: don't stand out without purpose.
"Our external quadrant is under the command of Baron Konem. You've had the pleasure of meeting him, but know this: we'll be in the northern quadrant, along with the other 72 planets under the Baron's administration."
The words weighed like lead. The Baron had already shown his cruelty. Being under his command meant living constantly on the edge of the abyss.
"You are dismissed. Gather your things. We leave in 30 minutes. Anyone left behind will be discarded."
Tyrin didn't need to hear anything else. He bolted back to his quarters. He wasn't the only one; others followed his lead. But unlike before, this time many of them stuck close, trusting that he knew the way.
He sprinted through familiar corridors back to his room. In a matter of minutes, he packed his belongings and checked the egg once again before heading out. However, as he stepped back into the corridor, he noticed some children still wandering, lost or hesitating.
Tyrin ran through the corridors with the determination of someone who couldn't afford a single mistake. He knew every second lost could cost him his life. But deep down, there was something else—a drive to cling to the promise he had made to himself to survive and protect what mattered most.
Then, a thin, trembling voice cut through the air:
"Wait for me, please!"
He stopped abruptly, his heavy breathing echoing through the empty corridor. Turning, he saw a girl barely able to stand. Her left arm was missing, as was one of her legs. The crude prosthetic she wore made an unsettling noise with every movement. But that wasn't what caught Tyrin's attention. It was the small cub in her arms—a white lion, as fragile as its owner.
"I couldn't grab anything but my companion. Help me, please. I don't want to die."
Her expression was a mix of desperation and hope, her large, tear-filled eyes almost begging for salvation. For a moment, Tyrin froze. She reminded him of Frida, his sister. The fragility, the fear, the dependence. The sight struck him like a blade to the heart.
He knew what he had to do, but reality was cruel. Helping her could slow him down. And slowing down could mean not making it in time. Not making it in time meant death.
Time seemed to slow as Tyrin deliberated. Behind him, the footsteps of other survivors who had followed his lead began to echo. They were getting closer, but the girl remained where she was, clutching the cub tightly.
"I need two people to help her," Tyrin said, his voice firm and authoritative, but laced with urgency.
One of the boys in the group, with messy hair and a dirt-streaked face, scoffed derisively.
"Shut up! Why do you think we'd help? Every man for himself here, kid. You wanna be a hero? Good luck. I'm not dying for her."
The rest of the group murmured in agreement, their eyes making it clear they didn't share Tyrin's compassion. The boy who had spoken, stepped forward with an air of defiance.
"Here's an idea: help her and die with her. We'll keep going. Everyone's happy, right?"
Tyrin stared at kid, not with anger but with understanding. He recognized that mindset—survival at all costs. It was basic instinct. But he also knew there was something more at stake. It wasn't just about helping the girl. It was about leading, about proving he could be something different, someone different.
He took a deep breath and, in a calm but calculated tone, said:
"Why do you think they're following me? Why do you think they trust me to know the way? Because I'm smart enough to find the best routes. And you all know it. Now, either help me with her, or we all stay here until the clock runs out. Your choice."
The kid frowned, glancing at the others, then back at Tyrin. Finally, he huffed and threw his hands up.
"Damn it! Fine, fine. I'll help. But you'd better know the way, kid, or I'll kill you myself."
Tyrin gave a faint smile, but it wasn't one of relief. He knew they were still at a disadvantage. The girl was fragile, and even with Brian and another boy helping her, the group's pace had slowed considerably. Every step felt like a risk, every second lost a nail in the coffin.
"How much time do we have?" Brian asked, his voice heavy with frustration.
"Enough if you shut up and keep moving," Tyrin replied curtly.
The girl, despite her limitations, made an admirable effort. She didn't complain, even when it was obvious that every movement caused her pain. The cub in her arms let out small whimpers, as if it could feel its owner's suffering.
Tyrin glanced at her again, and something inside him twisted. He thought of Frida and how she cried when he said goodbye. He knew that if he didn't help this girl, it would feel like abandoning his sister. And he couldn't live with that.
"Left turn here. Then right, and straight for ten minutes," Tyrin said, taking the lead.
They ran, stumbled, sweated, but they kept moving. Tyrin led with a confidence he didn't even know he possessed. He visualized the map in his mind, every corridor, every junction, every detail that could help him find the shortest path.
When they finally arrived at the boarding platform, the few remaining survivors who had made it there stared at them with curious eyes. Everyone was exhausted, but there was a faint glimmer of hope in their faces. Hope that was quickly extinguished when a familiar figure stepped into the center of the crowd.
Baron Konem.
He observed the group with a mocking smile, his cold eyes scanning each survivor until they landed on the girl Tyrin had helped. He approached her slowly, his gait almost predatory.
"How interesting, but I must say I'm disappointed. You used my champion like I use my girls. Disgusting."
He stopped in front of the girl, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek, as if admiring a piece of art.
"You have something beautiful, splendid. Almost a slimy, vicious charm—a raspberry in the scorching desert. What is the name, I don't remember... "
The girl, believing she had survived, gave a shy smile. Perhaps she was thinking of her mother, or maybe she felt relief at having made it this far.
"I remembered. Hope. Bah..."
The shot was quick. Simple. The girl collapsed to the ground, still smiling, as if she hadn't even had time to register what had happened. The cub in her arms let out a mournful cry before being dragged away.
"Know this: that word doesn't exist here. Only the strong survive. Do what you did again, and I'll kill you all myself."
Konem walked away laughing, his footsteps echoing through the corridors. But no one moved. No one spoke. They were paralyzed, shocked, and terrified.
Tyrin clenched his fists tightly. He looked down at the egg in his hands and murmured to himself:
"I will survive. No matter what happens. No matter what I have to do."
"Definitely, everyone here is insane."