Scene 1 – Proving the Truth, Marcus' Instinct
The Guild Council chamber was filled with murmurs. Long tables stretched in a crescent, their polished surfaces catching the pale glow of the overhead lights. Leaders from every division sat stiff in their seats, their eyes locked on Alexandra.
She stood at the center, hair tangled from her crash, her cloak torn, but her posture regal. She had spoken for nearly an hour, recounting Leonard's designs for Earth, his plans to extend the reach of the Nexus-Born, and the way he intended to use Mars as a staging ground for universal conquest.
But when she finished, silence followed. Then the doubts began.
"She expects us to believe this?" scoffed Chancellor Marden, his fingers drumming the wood before him. "A woman who appeared out of the sky in a broken ship, dressed in tatters, claiming to be Queen of Mars. If she is, then she is a traitor to her kind. If she is not, then she's a spy."
Others nodded. Some leaned back with folded arms, their expressions skeptical. A few whispered to each other. Alexandra's jaw tightened, but her voice stayed steady.
"I left everything behind to warn you," she said. "Leonard will not stop with Mars. He will not stop with Earth. He is building something greater, something darker. If you delay, you give him time."
Councilor Leven, an older man with a thin mustache, leaned forward. "Words are wind. Proof is weight. What proof do you bring us, Alexandra?"
The chamber quieted. All eyes fixed on her.
Alexandra exhaled slowly. She knew this moment would come. Broadman, standing at the back, gave her a subtle nod. His expression carried no judgment, only faith.
"Very well," Alexandra said. Her voice dropped, colder now. "You want proof? I will give you proof."
She spread her hands. The air thickened. A faint hum rolled through the chamber, rattling cups on the table. Then the ground beneath the councilors' feet trembled, not violently, but enough to make the walls creak. A blue-white light burst from her palms, dancing arcs of energy that shimmered like lightning yet moved with surgical precision.
Gasps filled the chamber.
One councilor stumbled back from his seat. Another reached for his communicator, then froze as the light curved gently around him without harm. A vase at the corner shattered to dust, its pieces swirling upward into a spiral before reforming whole again in her hand. Alexandra placed it quietly on the floor, unbroken.
Her eyes, glowing faintly, swept across the room. "These are not parlor tricks. They are gifts Leonard tried to bend into weapons. I refused. I stand before you not as his servant, but as your ally. Believe or don't. But do not waste time."
The silence afterward was heavier than the tremors. Some councilors stared in awe. Others in fear. A few looked away entirely, as if ashamed to have doubted.
Then the tension cracked—when one councilor let out a nervous laugh. "She nearly took ten years off my life," he muttered, clutching his chest. The nervous energy spread, a ripple of uneasy chuckles echoing around the chamber. The moment was no less serious, but her display left them shaken in more ways than one.
Broadman's lips twitched with the faintest of smiles. He knew what she had done. She hadn't destroyed. She had controlled. And control meant truth.
Across the compound, far from the chamber, Marcus was training. Sweat rolled down his face as he pushed through another sparring set with Tiffany. His wooden staff cracked against hers in rapid succession, the rhythm sharp, precise. Around them, other recruits cheered, watching the duel unfold.
Then Marcus froze.
The staff slipped in his grip. His gaze unfocused, drifting somewhere far beyond the training grounds. It hit him all at once—a pulse, familiar yet distant, rolling through his veins like a whisper carried on the wind. He staggered.
"Marcus?" Tiffany lowered her staff, frowning. "You okay?"
He blinked, trying to ground himself, but the pull was undeniable. His heart raced. He hadn't felt that warmth in years, not since childhood. Not since her.
He forced a half-smile. "Fine. Just… dizzy for a second. Guess I pushed too hard."
Tiffany tilted her head, unconvinced. "You looked like you saw a ghost."
"Something like that," he murmured, brushing it off. He raised his staff again, signaling he was ready. But when Tiffany turned to reset her stance, Marcus' lips curled into a quiet smile he couldn't suppress.
He felt it. She was here. His mother was close.
---
Scene Two – Alexandra Meets Ezra
The cafeteria was quiet by Guild standards. The usual rush of voices had settled into a low hum, and the smell of reheated rations hung in the air. Alexandra sat at one of the long tables, her hands folded neatly, her back straight as if years of palace discipline had never left her spine. Even here, stripped of the regalia of queenship, she carried herself like someone born to rule.
Broadman sat opposite her, his tray untouched, his eyes fixed on her face in a way that was neither romantic nor admiring, but calculating. Every twitch of her fingers, every controlled breath, every faint flicker in her eyes seemed to be data to him.
He broke the silence.
"Tell me something. Why did Leonard spare you?"
Alexandra's gaze sharpened, but she did not flinch. "Because even monsters preserve symbols. I was useful to him, if only as a reminder of what he conquered."
Broadman smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. "And yet you walked away. You are here. That makes you more dangerous than you think."
Before Alexandra could respond, the door slid open.
Ezra stepped inside.
He carried no tray, no book, no weapon. He had simply been passing through, looking for a place to avoid the crowds, but the moment his eyes landed on her, his entire body stopped moving.
It hit him like a thunderbolt.
The air in his lungs seized. His feet felt as though they had fused to the floor. For a split second, time didn't move at all. His chest burned with the kind of ache he thought he had buried decades ago.
Aurora.
The name screamed in his head, tearing open scars that had never healed. Aurora—his lost love, his greatest failure, the woman who had haunted his dreams for longer than he wanted to admit. And now, across the room, sat a woman who bore her face. The same eyes, the same sharp cheekbones, the same proud posture.
Ezra's fists clenched before he realized they had moved. His breathing grew ragged, loud in his ears.
Alexandra turned slowly, her own sharp eyes locking onto the man who had frozen mid-step. She tilted her head, studying him the way a hawk might study prey—or perhaps an equal.
Broadman saw it instantly. His attention darted between the two of them, and his strategist's brain flared to life. Something electric crackled between them, though he could not yet name it.
Ezra's lips parted, but no words came out.
Alexandra narrowed her eyes. "Do I know you?"
Her voice was calm, but beneath it lingered suspicion. She did not like the way this stranger looked at her—like a man seeing a ghost.
Ezra swallowed hard, his throat dry. He forced himself to breathe, but every inhale dragged Aurora's memory deeper into him. He remembered her laughter, her warmth, the way she had stood beside him before she was taken. He remembered the day she was gone, ripped from his grasp, leaving him with nothing but guilt and rage.
And now here was this woman. Not Aurora, but so close it made him sick.
"I…" His voice cracked. He coughed, straightened, tried again. "No. You don't know me."
Broadman leaned forward, eyes flicking sharply at Ezra. "Sit. Join us."
Ezra hesitated. He wanted to run, to get as far away from her face as possible, but some force dragged him forward. His boots echoed on the floor as he approached, each step heavier than the last.
He sat across from Alexandra, diagonally from Broadman, his posture stiff as a board. His eyes stayed fixed on the table, as if afraid to look directly at her again.
Alexandra's lips pressed into a thin line. "You look pale. As if you've seen something you shouldn't."
Her words struck him like knives. He looked up, forcing his gaze to meet hers. The resemblance hit him again, harder this time. His chest constricted until he thought his ribs would shatter.
"I've seen enough," Ezra muttered, his tone harsher than he intended.
Broadman noted the tremor in his voice. He leaned back, masking his interest with an indifferent shrug. "Strange. Ezra doesn't usually lose his composure. He's the one others fear, not the other way around."
Alexandra tilted her head again, examining Ezra. "You know someone. Someone like me."
Ezra's jaw tightened. His instinct screamed at him to deny it, to shut the door before it opened. But the weight of her stare was relentless. She saw too much.
"I knew a woman," Ezra said finally, his voice low, gravel scraping across stone. "She… she's gone."
Alexandra studied him silently, and in that silence, something flickered across her face. Not recognition, but a faint thread of empathy.
"I see," she said at last. Her tone softened, almost imperceptibly. "Then it is not me you look at, but a memory."
Ezra's hands curled tighter into fists beneath the table. He wanted to lash out, to shout that she had no right to wear Aurora's face, that the universe had no right to taunt him with this resemblance. But he held it in, swallowing rage like poison.
Broadman watched him like a predator circling wounded prey. He knew there was a story here, something buried deep. He had always suspected Ezra's past was laced with pain, but this reaction revealed far more than words ever could.
"You two should talk," Broadman said smoothly. "Ezra doesn't open up easily. Consider it… rare."
Ezra shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel, but Broadman only smirked, sipping his drink as if amused by the whole affair.
Alexandra folded her hands, her regal composure never faltering. "Tell me about her. This woman."
Ezra froze. His chest heaved once, twice. He felt the edges of panic creeping in. He wanted to leave, but the request pinned him like a blade through the chest.
"No." His voice was low, final, almost a growl. "That's not for you."
Silence dropped over the table.
Alexandra did not flinch. She simply nodded once, as if acknowledging a boundary. "Very well. But know this—whatever she meant to you, I am not her. Do not mistake me for someone else."
Her words were steady, firm, unyielding.
Ezra's eyes finally lifted to meet hers again, and for a heartbeat, he almost believed her. But the resemblance refused to let go.
The weight in his chest grew unbearable. He pushed back his chair suddenly, the screech of metal on tile breaking the silence.
"I need air."
Without waiting for permission, he turned and strode toward the exit. His steps were fast, almost frantic, his shoulders tight with strain.
Broadman's eyes followed him until the door shut. Then he turned back to Alexandra, who remained composed as if nothing had shaken her.
"You've stirred something in him," Broadman said quietly.
Alexandra arched an eyebrow. "I did nothing."
"Exactly." Broadman's smile was thin, predatory. "Which means it was already there. You remind him of something he'd rather forget."
He tapped his finger against the table, already calculating possibilities. If Ezra's ghosts could be turned into leverage, into a weapon or a weakness, then this chance encounter was far more valuable than it appeared.
Alexandra did not answer. She looked at the door Ezra had gone through, her eyes unreadable. For the first time since her arrival, she felt a flicker of unease—not fear, but curiosity. Who was this man, and what ghost had she unknowingly resurrected in him?
Broadman leaned back, pulling out his communicator under the table. His voice was calm, measured, but his mind was already racing ahead.
"Marcus," he said once the line connected. "We need to talk. Your presence may be required sooner than I thought."
---
Scene 3 – Mother and Son Reunion
The courtyard buzzed with laughter. Marcus sat cross-legged on a bench, strumming a guitar while Lyra, Jax, Garth, and the others clapped along. His voice carried steady, confident, the kind of voice that pulled everyone into the rhythm.
When he shifted into an Ed Sheeran tune, Lyra leaned against his shoulder, her smile soft and full of pride. Jax whistled obnoxiously to ruin the romantic moment, which only made everyone laugh harder.
The music broke when a guard strode across the yard, his armor clinking. "Marcus. Mr. Broadman requests you. Urgently."
Marcus looked up, startled. He slipped the guitar strap off, leaned close, and kissed Lyra quickly on the cheek. "Hold my spot. I'll be back."
The group erupted in teasing.
"Ohhh, look at him!" Jax cackled. "Our boy's getting bold!"
"Careful, Lyra, he'll start singing ballads just for you," Garth added.
Lyra's face turned bright red. Marcus shot a glare back, walking fast to hide his own blush. Then, true to his luck, his bootlaces snagged under his foot. He stumbled forward and crashed into the dirt.
The yard exploded with laughter. Marcus sprang up, muttering as he tied his laces properly this time. "Real mature, all of you."
By the time he reached Broadman's office door, his heart hammered—not from the fall, but from the sense that something heavy waited behind the wood. He knocked. "Mr. Broadman, you asked for me?"
"Come in, Marcus."
He stepped inside. A woman stood near the window, her back to him. Her clothes were disheveled, torn from travel, but there was something oddly familiar about her posture.
"This lady wanted to see you," Broadman said carefully.
The woman turned.
Marcus froze. His chest constricted, breath catching. Recognition slammed into him like a tidal wave. The lines of her face, the softness of her eyes—it was her.
"Mother?" The word cracked as it left his throat.
Tears blurred his vision. He stumbled forward and threw his arms around her. Alexandra clutched him with trembling hands, pressing her face against his hair.
"My son," she whispered. "I thought I lost you forever."
Marcus choked, sobbing into her shoulder. "I missed you so much. I thought you were gone. I thought you'd forgotten me."
"Never," Alexandra breathed. "Every day, Marcus. Every single day, I prayed for this."
For long minutes, neither let go. The years of pain, exile, and separation dissolved into a raw, unspoken relief.
Broadman looked away, giving them the space they needed. Then, with a discreet cough, he slipped a credit card from his coat and handed it to Marcus.
"Take her," Broadman said softly. "Get her cleaned up. Proper clothes. She deserves that much before we present her to the others."
Marcus nodded, still holding onto his mother. "Thank you."
---
The mall trip turned into chaos.
Alexandra stared wide-eyed at the endless racks of clothing. "People wear… these?" She lifted a neon green tracksuit, looking horrified.
Marcus smirked. "Try it. You'll blend right in."
She emerged from the dressing room in the tracksuit, the oversized hood nearly swallowing her head. Marcus burst into laughter, doubled over. "You look like a glowstick."
She rolled her eyes but tried the next outfit: a leather jacket with spiked shoulders and ripped jeans. She strutted out with an exaggerated pose. "How about now?"
Marcus slapped his forehead. "Now you look like you're about to start a biker gang."
The attendants giggled behind the counter as Alexandra kept changing—floral dresses too frilly, suits far too large, skirts too short. Each reveal drew louder reactions from Marcus, who could barely breathe from laughing.
Finally, she stepped out in a sleek, elegant black dress that hugged her frame without excess. The room fell quiet.
Marcus swallowed hard, suddenly serious. "That's the one."
Onlookers glanced their way, whispering as if a celebrity had walked into the store. Alexandra's beauty drew every eye, but the warmth in her smile softened the attention.
They paid and left, Marcus carrying the bags while Alexandra walked beside him, still adjusting to the Earth crowd.
---
Scene 4 – The Truth Revealed to the Team
Back at headquarters, Marcus helped Alexandra unpack in her new quarters. She touched the furniture like each piece carried history, listening as Marcus recalled fragments of childhood.
"I still remember the lullabies you used to hum," he said quietly. "I thought I made them up, but… it was real."
Her eyes softened. "You remembered. That means more than you know."
When the room was settled, Marcus inhaled deeply. "It's time. You should meet them."
They walked into the common hall. The team lounged around, but every head turned when Alexandra entered. Conversations halted. The murmurs started instantly.
"Who is she?"
"She looks like royalty."
"Never seen anyone like her…"
Marcus cleared his throat, commanding silence. His voice came steady, though his heart raced. "This is my mother."
The air shifted. Stunned disbelief rippled through the group. They had always believed Marcus to be an orphan, hardened by exile. Now the truth unraveled before them.
Marcus continued, laying it bare. He told them of his father's cruelty, of being cast aside, of the way his mother had urged him to hold onto righteousness before she was torn away. His voice cracked as he spoke, but Alexandra's hand on his shoulder steadied him.
Ezra lingered at the back, staring at Alexandra as though she were a ghost. His mind replayed Aurora's face, her voice, her smile—and now this woman mirrored all of it. He clenched his fists under the table, struggling to focus.
Alexandra stepped forward, clarifying before questions could spiral. "I am human. I was not born on Mars. I was raised there after being separated from my family, adopted by the Obsidian king. He later betrothed me to Leonard. That is the truth."
Jeremiah and Tiffany stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances. The resemblance to their late mother was undeniable. The only difference—Alexandra's jet black hair.
Jax, breaking the heavy silence, leaned to Garth. "Bro… Marcus' mom is a knockout."
Garth nodded with mock solemnity. "Like… unfair levels of knockout."
Marcus glared. "Say that again and I'll cut your legs off."
The hall erupted in laughter, the tension easing.
Lyra stepped forward shyly, and Marcus pulled her close. "This is Lyra. My girlfriend."
Alexandra's face lit up. She embraced Lyra warmly. "You make him smile. That alone tells me all I need."
Lyra beamed, relief softening her nerves.
Dinner followed, the long table filled with chatter, laughter, and clinking plates. Alexandra listened, asked questions, and the team found themselves drawn to her calm yet radiant presence.
But Ezra excused himself early. Back in his quarters, he sat at his desk, hands trembling over half-written reports. Alexandra's face refused to leave his mind.
"Is it possible?" he muttered to himself. "Could she… be Aurora?"
The ink smeared as his pen slipped. The question gnawed at him, threatening to unravel his composure.
To be continued...