Xing Yu never slept in.
Not once in all his twenty-three years had he allowed himself that luxury—he was a Farian general.
Discipline was stitched into his bones. But this morning, something had shifted. After last night’s late, meeting Jian and being forced to crash on the cramped couch in his chambers, exhaustion had knocked him into a deeper sleep than he’d expected.
His neck ached from the awkward angle, and the stiff upholstery left his body feeling bruised.
But what truly woke him wasn’t discomfort.
It was pain.
Agonizing pain.
A sudden, searing slash cut through the base of his neck, sharp and unnatural—like claws prying into his spine, yanking something vital out of place.
Xing Yu bolted upright with a gasp, clutching the back of his neck as his vision blurred.
He stumbled from the bed, knees buckling as wave after wave of pain coursed through him, his body trembling.
"What is this...?" he rasped, breathless. "Why... does it feel like someone is digging into my soul?"
A high-pitched whine filled the room.
His communication portal lit up, flashing the name of his best friend, the second prince Dican. With trembling fingers, Xing Yu grabbed the small device from the table and pressed accept.
His friend, Dican’s face flickered into view—beautiful as always, but now contorted in pain, sweat beading at his temple. His voice was hoarse. "Do you feel it?" he asked through gritted teeth. "It feels like someone is ripping into my brain."
Xing Yu’s breath hitched. He wasn’t alone.
Behind Dican, a palace guard stumbled into view, wincing and pressing a hand to the back of their neck. "Your Highness!" the guard choked out. "We ran a scan—it’s a signal. A... transmigrator signal. It’s been forcibly activated and connected to one of our kind."
Xing Yu froze.
His eyes widened. His hand trembled as he clutched his neck tighter. "It must be someone close to us. That’s the only reason the pain’s this strong..."
A cold silence passed between them before both whispered the same words:
"The lost prince."
Xing Yu’s heart dropped.
It thudded so loud in his ears he could barely hear anything else.
He staggered to his feet, the pain still gnawing at him.
"He’s alive..." he whispered, his throat tight. "He’s alive... but he’s in pain. So much pain."
Dican nodded, expression grim. "our kind can heal, but... if his wound isn’t healing—it means somethings wrong with him. If we don’t reach him soon..."
Xing Yu didn’t wait to hear the end.
He threw on the nearest coat, his wings twitching restlessly under the fabric, and bolted for the hangar. "I have to find him," he said breathlessly.
"I’m coming back too," his friend said, already turning to command his ship.
Far above, near the edge of the solar system, the larger Farian vessel groaned as it shifted.
Beneath it, a smaller scouting ship disconnected, its lights flaring to life.
With a hiss of energy, it shot forward—past the black hole’s reach, past the edge of safe space.
Its target: a small, blue planet.
Earth.
Jian crouched beside the alien ship, his breath shallow, blood trickling down from the torn gash at his neck.
The golden liquid shimmered even in the gray, smoke-filled daylight, running like molten sunlight down his fingers.
"Okay... okay, this is not that bad..." he whispered to himself, voice trembling. His legs were shaking beneath him, but he forced himself to his feet. "They’ll only bomb the city... just the city for now..."
He tried to steady his breathing, wiping his face with the back of his stained sleeve.
"I have to get Grandpa," he said aloud, grounding himself with the sound of his own voice. "I have to get to the orchard. We’ll get there. It’s safe. Familiar." His words stuttered.
As he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers came away slick and glowing.
Gold. His blood.
Golden fingerprints smeared across his temple.
"Shit... I can’t go home like this. If they see... if anyone sees..."
He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to.
They’d dissect him. He wouldn’t even get the dignity of a grave.
Racing through the ash-covered street, he found the wreckage of the flipped luxury car. Flames had died down to embers, the air thick with the stench of burning rubber and scorched leather.
The driver—an older man who had just laughed and chatted with him now lay sprawled beside the door.
His lifeless eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
Jian’s stomach clenched.
"No..." he whispered, crouching beside him, his voice cracking. "I’m so sorry. I’m... I’m so sorry you had to go like this..."
He reached out with a trembling hand and gently closed the man’s eyes.
Crawling into the wreckage, Jian pushed past the cracked front seat and ducked into the back. The car’s minibar had miraculously remained intact. He pulled open the small refrigerator door, grabbing bottles of sparkling water and tonic drinks. The fizz hissed softly as he twisted one open, and he crawled back out, barely managing to avoid the jagged metal edges.
Kneeling on the cracked pavement, Jian poured the icy water over himself. He scrubbed furiously at his arms, neck, and face, trying to rinse the blood away. But the gold clung to him. It soaked into his clothes, into his skin.
He let out a frustrated sob, slamming the now-empty bottle to the ground.
"Fuck..." he whispered again, voice hoarse and hollow.
He headed towards the familiar path that led to his school. Right now he can’t go to the Wang house but he can definitely go somewhere where he can contact his grandpa.
Jian stumbled and walked in pain.