Pluton unfolds before the visitor as a realm of eternal twilight, where shadows dance across a landscape of icy plains and jagged mountain peaks.
The air is crisp and biting, a constant reminder of the planet's alien nature. Ribbons of frozen methane weave through the terrain, glinting faintly under the dim light of a distant sun.
Amidst this stark beauty lies Gold City, a dazzling oasis of warmth and brilliance. Its towering spires and shimmering, golden-hued architecture stand in stark contrast to the harsh, icy surroundings.
Streets paved with glowing stones guide visitors through a city that seems alive with color and melody.
In the vibrant heart of Gold City, the Grand Plaza bursts with light, its fountains of liquid starlight casting vibrant reflections that dance across the faces of its diverse and purposeful inhabitants, each person a vivid thread in the city's rich tapestry.
From the swirling maw of a rift in reality, a jet of pristine white burst into existence, the epitome of sleek precision against the backdrop of Pluton's enigmatic landscape.
Its arrival was like the striking of a match against the vastness, a dazzling beacon that commanded attention.
Within this graceful vessel sat young Prince Bakari, the luminescent screens of his flight console casting an ethereal glow upon his focused visage.
His fingers danced frantically over the controls, a rhythmic staccato of urgency, as he uttered a whispered mantra, "Delete, delete, delete."
Each word was laced with intent, a silent plea to the digital ether to erase the damning records of his exploits.
The instant his task was complete, Bakari reclined with a sigh of relief, his arms stretching skyward as if in quiet celebration.
A self-satisfied grin graced his features as he murmured to himself in triumphant tones, "Yes, there we go."
But the moment of tranquility was shattered by the sudden illumination of a holographic projection on his wrist watch . It flickered into existence before him, casting ghostly reflections against the sleek paneling of the cockpit.
From this translucent apparition emanated a voice, cultured and imposing, that pierced the air with authority. "Lord Bakari," it intoned with a reverence befitting his title.
Startled, Bakari's heart skipped a beat, his hand instinctively flying to his chest as if to steady the rhythm that the sudden intrusion had disrupted.
The dimly lit cockpit was filled with the slightly crackling image of Orion's hologram, casting a cool blue glow that mingled with the ambient lights of Bakari's jet.
Bakari leaned back in his seat, an incredulous smile spreading across his face.
"Orion, you can't just scare a brother like that," he remarked, still catching his breath from the unexpected surprise.
Orion, with his composed demeanor, replied, "If a brother wasn't doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing, he wouldn't be scared."
His holographic visage flickered slightly, yet it maintained the distinct air of authority.
Bakari chuckled, shaking his head. "You're something else, man."
"Whatever that means," Orion said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I need you to come to the palace immediately."
"Why? What's going on?" Bakari's curiosity piqued, underlined by a twinge of concern.
"Just come; I'll tell you everything when you arrive." With a final flicker, Orion's image dissipated, leaving Bakari in the hush of his cabin.
Mocking Orion's tone under his breath, Bakari navigated his jet smoothly to the palace, bringing it down with practiced ease.
The grand expanse was unusually void of its usual regiment of guards, leaving only Orion there to greet him.
Stepping out with arms wide in a feigned embrace, Bakari called, "Orion, my man!"
Orion wasted no time on pleasantries. "Follow me," he instructed curtly.
"Who put ants in your milk?" Bakari quipped, trying to lighten the mood as they moved briskly through echoing corridors towards his room. Once inside, Orion shut the door with a definitive click.
"Come in. You've got me concerned. What's going on?" Bakari asked, feeling the seriousness of the situation closing in.
Orion studied him through his mask, emanating an air of gravity. "Okay, since you were exploring the galaxy—"
Bakari interrupted with a dismissive wave, "Pfft, what? I've been here."
Orion's look was unwavering, compelling Bakari to relent, "Okay, carry on."
"Your father is missing," Orion stated, his words heavy with implication.
Bakari blinked, disbelief etching his features. "Mind saying that again? 'Cause I'm positive I didn't hear you right."
"Your father is missing," Orion reiterated, his voice firm.
"Missing? How? He's the king!" Bakari's voice rose, laced with incredulity.
"A king is not incapable of going missing," Orion replied steadily.
Rubbing his face in frustration, Bakari turned away, processing the impossible news. "You can't be serious. How did this happen, and when?"
Orion explained, "It happened when you left on your trip."
"So why didn't anybody tell me?" Bakari protested, frustration bubbling over.
"You took the Lunar Spear. It has no function for communication, plus, you are the first suspect," Orion said pointedly.
Bakari's expression shifted from shock to confusion. "What now?" he asked, searching for direction in the tumultuous swirl of accusations and reality.
Orion turned to Bakari with a grave expression. "Stay here. I'll return soon and send Yuri to take you to the cave."
Bakari, surprised and apprehensive, asked, "Wait, what is the council saying?"
"They've issued your arrest," Orion replied firmly.
As Orion left, Bakari backed away, tension gripping him.
He glanced at the ceiling, his mind racing, before shedding his jacket to reveal a sleeveless leather vest adorned with intricate solar markings on his right arm.
They glowed subtly, a testament to his unique heritage, as he moved with a heavy demeanor, burdened by disbelief.
Gazing out over the city, he murmured, "What am I supposed to do now?" His thoughts were a chaotic blend of confusion.
"Why would I kidnap my own father?"
Suddenly, the door exploded open with a deafening crash. He flinched, turning swiftly to see men in black and gold leather dashikis, swords at their sides.
The leader, brandishing a parchment, declared, "Bakari Isiah Mevrod, by council order, we are here to detain you for kidnapping King Michael Mevrod."
Bakari whispered, "You can't be serious." As he stepped forward to reason, the guards unsheathed their swords with a sharp, metallic hiss, creating a tense barrier and filling the room with an echo of imminent danger.
Their leader spoke cautiously, "We don't want trouble. Comply, and we'll resolve this."
"Comply?" Bakari echoed angrily. "You burst in and draw swords on a defenseless man. I feel threatened."
As his anger flared, his solar markings ignited, casting a molten glow.
The air around Bakari shimmered with intense heat, distorting his figure like a mirage as waves of hot air undulated from his body.
Flames danced along his skin, casting flickering shadows throughout the room.
Wisps of steam curled upwards from his nose and mouth, creating ghostly patterns that added to the charged atmosphere, leaving the guards rooted in place, their expressions caught between caution and uncertainty.