Chapter 5 5

To everyone but Dominion, who hold the majority of the Kinduri in their power, they are the real fear. If you see one, with their black lips, black, bleeding eyes, and skeletal forms, you turn and walk the other way.

Because they can do things. They can make you say things. They can read your mind. It's said they can drain your soul.

I've never believed in magic, but I do know for a fact the Kinduri are cursed by the universe for so selfishly consuming what is not theirs.

They're terrifying and strong, and utterly effective.

The only thing stronger than a Kinduri is a Nero.

"Where have all the Nero gone?" Arden's voice speaks in my ear as once more I press play. "I've heard there used to be hundreds of Nero in the galaxy. Maybe even thousands. Because there was once a war between them. A battle between the good and the bad Nero."

But almost all of them have disappeared. There has only been one born in the past eighty-seven solars.

And he, too, is controlled by Dominion.

Even the strongest, most fascinating and powerful being in the universe is controlled by an evil corporation.

I look away from the Neron core as I aim for my office.

I hate thinking about the Nero. It makes me sick. It makes me sad and angry.

Because I think the galaxy would be a very different place if they rose again.

The Nero can do everything that any person in possession of Neron can do, but a hundred fold. Nero are born with a connection to Neron. They don't have to have solid Neron to have a weapon, they can pull it from the air and make a weapon of electric Neron. They can read your true emotions. It's said they can read your thoughts if they are strong enough. They can move things simply by manipulating the Neron in everything. Because there is energy and life in everything. I've even heard they can see the future.

The Nero are the real wizards.

"Dominion has nearly driven the Nero extinct," Arden says boldly. "As they've taken over every Neron-rich planet, fewer and fewer Nero were born. The Nero were almost always born on planets with natural Neron, but how many of those exist anymore that Dominion doesn't control?" She pauses for a bit, and the trillions of listeners she has around the galaxy already know the answer. "None."

Dominion owns them all. Except Korpillion, simply because they don't know the Neron is here.

"What happened to Evander Nero?" Arden asks her listeners. "If there ever was a good man, it was him. The second to last Nero known to be born, he fought Dominion every day of his life. He rallied them all, and led the attack on Isroth. He may not have been successful. Cyrillius might have crushed them with his army, with the Kinduri..." she pauses, and I shake my head with her, "but we know Evander Nero escaped Isroth. We know, because he lived to give the prophecy."

Goosebumps flash across my skin.

There isn't a soul alive in the Eon Galaxy that doesn't know the prophecy given by Evander Nero, who saw not only his own future, but that of the entire galaxy.

"Evander Nero promised that another Nero would come," she says. Her voice is soft, a little broken sounding, but hopeful. "Another Nero, who would be strong enough to bring the galaxy back from destruction. Another Nero who could free Neron. And we all know what that means. If Neron is to be free, it would mean the end of Dominion."

A cold shiver works its way down my spine.

Another Nero was found, after Evander Nero disappeared. The last Nero in the entire galaxy.

He could have been a savior. The only person in the galaxy powerful enough to stand up to Dominion.

Instead, they turned him to their side, and made him their puppet.

They turned him into a very, very bad man.

"Where is this savior you promised, Evander?" Arden asks. "Because it certainly isn't Valen Nero."

I feel sick. I feel a million pounds heavy.

So, I pull my audobuds out of my ears and slip them into my pocket.

I shove thoughts of magic and hope out of my head, and turn to my screens, determined to finish this research on something as boring and basic as stronger pipes

"Long day?"

My eyes slide over to the tiny kitchen area as I walk through the door with a grumble. My father is there, preparing our simple dinner.

I sigh, stepping inside and flopping down on a chair, one of two, because that's all we can fit in this tiny space. "Today was one of those days when everything decides to break."

"One of these days, there's going to be too many people, and this whole planet is just going to break right in half," he says as he stirs something in a pan.

I huff a laugh, because it honestly feels like the truth. "How was your day?"

He shrugs. "Nothing special. Just work, as usual."

My father, Torin Ainsley, works maintenance at the local school. Day in and day out, he fixes broken sinks, backed-up toilets, scrubs ink off walls, and keeps the power in the building running so the lights stay on for those children.

It's a thankless job. It isn't glamorous. But it has paid our bills my entire life, and it's been stable.

It's where I first found my love for mechanics and engineering, crawling through the underbelly of the school building, fixing the wiring or repairing the ducting.

He taught me a lot of skills the planet no longer values.

Together we eat at our tiny table, a meal of manufactured protein mush and vegetables that barely have enough nutrients to qualify as food.

Our life is simple. Routine. Basic.

We work.

We eat together.