I watched the holographic displays dance around me, streams of data flowing like starlight as LYRA analyzed the very heart of my world. Each second stretched like a blade across my nerves, and I found myself holding my breath despite my body's protests.
When LYRA's voice finally broke the silence, it carried a gravity that made my stomach drop before she even spoke the words.
"Core analysis complete, young master." Her voice carried a weight I'd only heard when she informed me about my parents' death—the sound of a death sentence being read. "The planetary core exhibits critical structural failure patterns. Krypton is dying."
The words hit me. "How long?"
"One to six months before complete planetary destruction."
The glass of mineral water I'd been absently holding trembled in my grip like a leaf in a storm. One to six months. Everything I'd ever known, everyone I'd ever cared about—gone in less than half a year.
'This can't be right. Only a few months!?' The thought screamed through my mind like a dying star.
"When did this begin? Our systems should have detected destabilization centuries ago."
"The first report was filed one hundred and three years ago by Noh-El, Vice President of the Science Guild." Each word fell like a hammer blow. "The Council buried it. Noh-El was stripped of his position and silenced. All geological research was transferred to Council control."
The glass in my hand shattered.
Sharp fragments bit into my palm as I squeezed unconsciously, and I watched with detached fascination as drops of crimson blood spattered across my father's pristine desk.
The pain felt distant, insignificant compared to the rage building in my chest like a supernova preparing to consume entire star systems.
"They knew." The words came out as a snarl that would have made a predator proud. "The Council knew!"
For an entire century, they had known that our world was dying, and they had done nothing. Worse than nothing—they had actively suppressed the truth.
I could understand—barely—keeping such information classified. The panic alone would have torn our society apart.
Citizens would have demanded immediate evacuation, mass hysteria would have consumed our cities, and our entire social structure would have collapsed overnight like a house of cards in a hurricane.
But to know and take no action? To simply watch as billions marched unknowingly toward extinction while maintaining the illusion of eternal prosperity?
That was beyond criminal. That was genocide through negligence, wrapped in the silk robes of political expediency.
But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was what they had actively done to ensure our doom.
"Those bastards," I whispered, my voice trembling with barely contained fury that threatened to crack the very foundations of my self-control. "They didn't just hide the truth. They orchestrated our extinction."
The memories from my father's stories flooded back with crystalline clarity, each detail now taking on a sinister new meaning.
Twenty years ago, the Council issued the Planetary Consolidation Decree. They had systematically shut down every off-world colony, every mining station, every research outpost beyond Krypton's atmosphere.
The official reasoning had been "cultural preservation" and "resource optimization." They claimed that spreading our people across the galaxy diluted our heritage, that true Kryptonians belonged on Krypton, and that our strength came from unity rather than expansion.
What they had really done was murder twenty million people without firing a single shot.
Twenty million Kryptonians who had been living and thriving on other worlds. Twenty million who could have survived Krypton's destruction and carried our civilization forward into the stars.
They had been dragged back to this dying rock under threat of exile and execution.
The Council had gathered every last Kryptonian onto a dying planet, ensuring that when Krypton died, our entire race would die with it. No survivors. No witnesses. No one left to ask uncomfortable questions about who knew what and when.
My breathing became ragged as the full scope of their betrayal sank in like poison through my veins. This wasn't incompetence. This wasn't willful ignorance born of political cowardice.
This was extermination disguised as patriotic policy.
"Is the core mining operation still running?"
"Affirmative. Production has increased by twelve percent in two years to meet energy demands." Her tone turned grave. "At current extraction rates, you have eight weeks. Maximum."
I slammed my bleeding fist onto the desk with such force that the entire structure shuddered, the impact sending waves of pain up my arm that I barely felt through the red haze of my rage.
Two months.
They were literally digging our grave faster with every passing day, and they didn't care even after knowing what was going to happen.
The mining operation extracted rare minerals from the planet's core that powered our technology, our cities, and our entire way of life. It had been deemed essential to maintaining our advanced civilization, the cornerstone of Kryptonian prosperity.
But now I understood the truth—they were trading our future for short-term prosperity, accelerating our extinction for the sake of quarterly reports and political stability.
'Do they really want us to go extinct that bad?' The thought was so monstrous I could barely process it, yet it explained everything with horrifying clarity.
But what other explanation made sense? A century of willful ignorance, followed by actively concentrating our entire population on a dying world, followed by accelerating that world's destruction through industrial greed?
Either the Council was composed of the most incompetent leaders in galactic history, or they had been compromised long ago by forces that wanted Krypton erased from existence—and none of us had ever realized the knife at our throats.
Neither possibility filled me with confidence, but the second terrified me in ways I couldn't fully articulate.
"I won't allow it," I declared to the empty chamber, my voice echoing off the crystalline walls with the weight of an oath sworn in blood and sealed with divine fire.
I would not be the heir who watched his people die in ignorant bliss.
I would not be the descendant of Rao who let our legacy crumble to cosmic dust on his watch while politicians played their games of power and profit.
My ancestors had built an empire that lasted for thousands of years, had guided countless worlds to prosperity and peace—I would not let their legacy end with such shameful, preventable failure.
I flexed my injured hand, watching fresh drops of blood well up from the glass cuts like tiny rubies against my pale skin. The pain helped focus my thoughts, ground me in the reality of what I was facing.
Time was my enemy now. Every second that passed brought us closer to extinction, and I was possibly the only person in this entire world who understood the true scope of what we faced.
"LYRA, prepare a complete inventory of House Rao's assets—financial holdings, technological resources, physical properties, military connections, and any off-world contacts that might still exist despite the Consolidation Decree. I need to understand exactly what resources we command."
"Additionally," I continued, my voice taking on the commanding tone that had once echoed through imperial halls, "send a priority summon to Commander Jon-Sno. I want him in my private study immediately. Mark it as urgent family business."
If I were going to save our people, I would need allies. And more importantly, I would need people who could act without asking too many questions, and people I could trust.
Jon-Sno was my top one in all of these categories.
The game had begun, and the stakes were nothing less than the survival of an entire species.
.....
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