Marcus stood tall in front of his uncle, who was struggling to rise from the ground. But how?

  How could he stand? How could he use his legs again? Was it the green light? I didn’t know.

  Then I heard Gina calling my name. I turned.

  There she was, pushing through the crowd, running straight toward me. I caught her in my arms and we kissed.

  “I thought they would kill us,” she whispered, voice trembling with worry.

  But as she pulled back, her eyes landed on Marcus. “Wait… he can walk?”

  She looked to me for answers. I could only shake my head—no.

  Arthur reached a shaking hand toward Marcus, pleading. His voice came out in wet, gurgling sobs. Tears streamed down his face. I had never seen the Emperor cry—not even when his wife, the good Empress Lady Margareth, died. The tyrant, once so full of bravado and strength, was now begging for mercy.

  Marcus only smiled—a cold, knowing smirk—looking down at the broken man. Then he turned to us.

  “Captain, can you give me a hand with my uncle, please? And Lieutenant, could you bring that wheelchair over here?”

  He spoke with the same effortless command Arthur once wielded. And just like that, we obeyed. He truly was the heir.

  Gina pushed the wheelchair closer while I helped Marcus lift his uncle’s limp body into it. Marcus adjusted him carefully: straightening the suit, smoothing the sash, repositioning the crown. He even folded the cape into a makeshift lap blanket and brushed dust from Arthur’s shoulders.

  Once his uncle was settled, Marcus turned to us again. “Captain. Lieutenant. Would you escort me and my uncle somewhere more… pleasant?

  We need to speak with a little divine intervention.”

  Like loyal soldiers, we answered in unison: “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Marcus took the handles and pushed the wheelchair forward. The crowd parted silently, creating a path down the center. As we passed, I caught Jerry’s eye. He smiled, reached out, and stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

  “Big change coming, lil bro,” he said quietly.

  I nodded and hurried to catch up.

  We returned to the hangar and boarded the Emperor’s private shuttle. Marcus secured Arthur’s wheelchair, gave the pilot coordinates, and we lifted off.

  Inside the bay, I couldn’t stop staring at Marcus’s legs—his feet, planted firmly on the deck.

  “How… can you walk again?” I finally asked, voice low.

  He turned to face me. “Months ago, before I offered you that deal. I had a dream about the Mal’akhim princess on the moon—Xenolla.”

  “Xenolla?” Gina cut in. “The Mal’akhim princess? Crystal’s people?”

  “Yes,” Marcus replied. “She’s actually Crystal’s sister—or as they call her, Zerella. They came to take her back. She’s meant to be their next Matriarch.”

  “She spoke to me telepathically for the first time,” he continued. “Begged me to release her. I was going to… but then she offered something in return: restoration of Earth. And my legs. She warned there would be consequences.”

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  “What kind of consequences?” I asked.

  “I don’t know yet.” He gave a small shrug. “But she gave me everything I needed—the full schematics to build the restoration machine on the moon.”

  “After you launched her capsule,” he said, looking at me, “that green flash… my legs healed. It felt like she was massaging life back into them. She’s free now. And so is the Earth.”

  I had to ask the obvious. “And how exactly did you build that massive facility on the moon… while you were still in a wheelchair?”

  Marcus grinned. “Robots, my dear Jericho. Robots.”

  A short while later, the shuttle touched down.

  When the bay doors opened, I recognized the place immediately: the Emperor’s Prayer Hill—his private meditation spot. The same cliffside where Crystal—Zerella—had first landed on Marcus. The place where everything began.

  It was late afternoon. The hill dropped sharply into a deep cliff, waves crashing far below.

  Marcus wheeled his uncle right to the edge and locked the brakes. He crouched beside the paralyzed Emperor as they both faced the grey, unchanging sky.

  Then it came again—the wave of green light rolling across the heavens.

  For the first time in years, the flat, oppressive cloud layer parted. Golden rays poured through, bathing the cliff in warm sunlight. The heat touched Arthur’s face. Though he couldn’t move, a faint, bitter smirk curved his lips.

  “If you had only listened to me, Uncle,” Marcus said quietly. “If greed hadn’t poisoned your soul, if your hatred for Uncle Joe hadn’t twisted your heart… if you had heeded Aunt Margareth’s words and continued caring for the people you once saved… you might have lived to see the world I planned. But you don’t deserve to witness that beauty. The Earth we’re bringing back is too precious for you.”

  He paused, voice softening. “Still… I’ll let you see one sunrise you missed. This was Faye’s and my dream—paradise returned. Faye didn’t make it. She’s gone. And now… I think you should follow her.”

  After the green flash faded, the world answered.

  Grass erupted from the soil around us, spreading like wildfire. Trees shot upward on distant hills and mountains, branches thickening, leaves unfurling, fruit swelling in seconds. Flowers—roses, sunflowers, daisies—bloomed in vivid bursts. The ocean, once brown and dead, turned a living blue. The wind carried clean, sweet salt. Clouds thinned and brightened. The sky grew deeper, clearer, bluer.

  The sun burned fiercer.

  Earth was healing herself.

  Marcus stood. He unlocked the wheelchair. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed it forward—over the edge.

  Arthur I fell silently, plummeting into the rushing waves below. The impact was swallowed by the roar of the sea.

  For the first time in years, I felt warmth. Satisfaction. After every mission, every loss, every betrayal—it all led here. The spoils I’d been chasing. The brilliance of a living Earth.

  All thanks to the man who used to be confined to that wheelchair.

  I stepped forward and—for the first time in a long while—placed my hand on Marcus’s shoulder. I patted it three times.

  “Good job, Marcus. Good job.”

  He turned, and there it was: the big, genuine smile I hadn’t seen since we were kids. My best friend’s smile.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, patting me back.

  Gina slipped in from the side and hugged me. I wrapped my arms around her tight. She laughed into my chest.

  Marcus glanced at us. “Faye was right. You two do look good together.”

  We all laughed.

  “So… what’s next, Emperor Marcus?” Gina asked.

  He looked upward—not just at the sky, but beyond it.

  “Now,” he said softly, “I wait.”

  Above us, the Dead Men’s Dragonfly appeared, hovering. Jerry’s voice crackled over the radio.

  “Bro, time to get home.”

  Tethers dropped and wrapped around our waists.

  I turned to Marcus and extended my hand. He gripped it hard. I tightened mine in return. Then we let go.

  The Dragonfly pulled us upward.

  The next day, aboard the St. Francis’ Revenge—now matte black again, back in Dead Men colors, mast flag flying—we sliced through the blue Pacific. Jerry had rejoined the Imperial Navy, ready to serve the new Emperor. Harvey had returned to the Empire too, but promised to visit.

  From the bridge, Gina by my side, we watched the broadcast. I couldn’t stop smiling—ear to ear, excited, but still a little worried.

  Marcus’s coronation. The people rejoicing. James and Ella standing at his sides, giving their public blessing. All Imperial forces saluting, swearing allegiance to their new supreme leader—

  Emperor Marcus of the Empire of Man.

  And then, with a flash of light—jump—the St. Francis’ Revenge vanished, disappearing into hiding once more.

  — End of Book One —