The place they had been sent to wasn't a natural planet, but a forged one - a cobbled-together celestial body constructed from intercepted asteroids, pulled from the trinary star system's debris and fused into a single mass. Over time, dozens of elements coalesced under alien guidance, shaped by Vessels of multiple races into a habitable prison.
Atmosphere. Magnetic field. Fertile soil. The bare minimum for survival, nothing more.
The Vessels worked until the asteroid cluster became a sphere roughly Earth's size - Jael, they called it. A new home? No. A workshop. A proving ground for a broken civilization.
The overlords framed it as mercy. A fresh start, they said. Humanity hadn't been exterminated, nor subjected to fates worse than death. Instead, they were given a chance to repent - to live, if they bowed to Essence's commandments.
But worship alone wouldn't earn their freedom. There were conditions.
"If you want to live, you must serve," declared one of the overlords, his human disguise failing to mask the coldness in his voice. "Cultivate this planet. Mine its resources. Build its infrastructure. Meet our expectations... and you will be forgiven."
The unspoken truth hung heavier than gravity: Forgiveness was another form of chains.
***
Just because Niam, Haru, and their father had been together when unconsciousness took them didn't mean they'd wake side by side.
They didn't.
Niam's vision cleared to reveal strangers - hundreds of disoriented humans, each as lost as he was. Above them, the crimson sky darkened as more figures descended, their numbers swelling until they nearly blotted out the light. Then, the aliens activated devices in their hands.
Light erupted.
Beams lanced into the crowd. And in the time it took to blink, the enclosure stood empty - humanity divided into thousands of identical groups, scattered across Jael like seeds in barren soil.
Niam's world lurched between one heartbeat and the next. One moment, the suffocating press of bodies; the next, vast emptiness.
He stood in a warehouse so enormous its walls vanished into haze. The floor was the same grayish earth as the enclosure, but overhead stretched a metallic ceiling ribbed with wavy grooves. Around him, people staggered, clutching their heads as they took in their new surroundings.
A blue line split the ceiling, and a voice boomed:
"Remain stationary. Vessels of the Sulonian Race will attend you shortly."
The light parted, peeling back the roof to reveal the blood-hued sky - and the figures hovering within.
A hundred Sulonians descended.
In another life, this might have been a moment of awe - first contact. But now, as their forms resolved into clarity, the crowd recoiled.
Four arms. Bipedal. Pale blue skin stretched over elongated limbs, crowned by manes of white hair. Their faces were disturbingly humanoid - eyes, noses, mouths - but the resemblance only made their otherness more horrifying.
"Form groups of one hundred," the voice commanded.
Chaos erupted as people scrambled to comply. Strangers grabbed strangers, counting off in panched shouts. Niam didn't move - they came to him. Bodies pressed inward until he stood at the center of a perfect circle, the unspoken nucleus of some unasked-for hierarchy.
Seven minutes later, order emerged.
A Sulonian drifted toward Niam's group.
She was sleek where humans were soft, her movements fluid as water over stone. Long white hair framed a face that might've been beautiful if not for the unsettling perfection of her features.
"My name is Saona," she said, her voice high-pitched yet oddly soothing. "I am responsible for you. Unfortunately."
Her attire mimicked traditional Asian robes, the fabric clinging as if grown rather than sewn. Jewelry adorned her - five silver rings, delicate earrings, a chain half-hidden by cloth. Every piece hummed with latent energy.
"This is one of Jael's textile facilities," she continued. "You will manufacture garments, carpets, and utility items. Compliance ensures survival."
Not a single human spoke.
Saona raised a hand. One of her rings glowed violet, and from it tumbled dozens of duplicates. They rained onto the crowd, snatched from the air by trembling hands.
Niam caught his. The metal - if it was metal - felt wrong. Cool. Weightless. He ran a calloused finger along its surface, and his swordsman's instincts flared.
This isn't steel. Or titanium. Or anything earthly.
He slid the ring onto his right middle finger. It reshaped itself, molding to his flesh like a living thing.
Saona's gaze snapped to him.
"You," she said, pointing with an upper left hand. "Show me your hand."
Niam obeyed without thought, raising his right hand.
The Sulonian's eyebrow arched. Her lips twitched - amusement? Annoyance?
"The other one."
Niam's gut clenched. He'd forgotten.
Slowly, he lifted his left hand - where two fingers were missing, the stumps still raw.
Saona's expression shifted to something unreadable. Her eyes flickered over the injury with what might have been confusion, though her voice remained even when she spoke. "You should be whole. The transit heals all wounds."
Niam opened his mouth -
"Never mind. Is that your dominant hand?"
He shook his head.
"Then you're fit for labor."
And with that, she turned away, leaving Niam with the silent question hanging between them - why had his injury been the only thing that resisted their technology?