CHAPTER 224: CHAPTER 224 - TIME DIFFERENCE

Far beyond the newly settled forest planet where the second prince’s vessel had landed, in the vast emptiness of deep space, the quiet darkness suddenly split apart.

With a shimmering ripple, dozens of silver-gray ships warped into view in perfect formation—sleek Farian warcraft of the highest class. Each vessel glinted with polished alloys, their engines glowing faintly blue in the shadows of the stars. They arrived with eerie silence, save for the subtle hum of engine vibrations and the faint crackle of distortion dissipating into vacuum.

At the center of this battalion, the smallest and fastest cruiser floated with imperial grace. Its slim, curved body was adorned with a single long crimson stripe along the hull—the personal insignia of the First Prince of Faris.

Inside the command deck, everything glowed with understated elegance. Panels pulsed gently. Officers moved with smooth precision. At the helm, reclined in a high-backed seat draped with fine golden embroidery, sat Cealus—first prince of the empire.

He was poised, regal, an image of collected power. His golden outer robe lay parted around him like a halo, and beneath it, the black body-hugging combat suit clung perfectly to his lean, commanding form. His long silver-blond hair shimmered under the command deck lights, and his sculpted fingers drummed lightly against the carved handrest of his chair.

His eyes—seductive, foxlike, always unreadable—were fixed on the viewing screen before him.

There was nothing there.

Only wisps of residual dust.

Floating specks in a silent ocean.

A deep frown settled onto his face as he leaned forward slightly, the fingers at his temple pressing with quiet frustration. His voice, when it came, was soft—but layered with tension.

"...Just traces of particle scatter... Their ship’s jump signal must’ve destabilized the moment they passed through."

One of the officers approached cautiously, bowing slightly. "Your Highness. These are the last confirmed coordinates of the second prince’s ship. There’s no response on any of our known channels."

Cealus didn’t answer at first. His gaze lingered on the floating space debris outside the ship—the glittering trail of the mothership’s passage through the cosmos. His thoughts lingered, just briefly, on his younger brother’s face. He had always known Dican to be emotionally soft, too idealistic at times... but lately, something had changed. Ever since that consort joined him, his behavior had become strange. Unpredictable.

Erratic.

He gently tapped the handrest with a finger, lost in thought. Then his voice came again—low, commanding.

"Begin wide-range scans of the surrounding sectors. He couldn’t have warped far with a damaged communication array. I want every dust cloud and gravitational ripple analyzed for residual energy."

"Yes, Your Highness!"

Just as the officer turned away, another one approached from the forward console.

"Your Highness..." she began hesitantly. "The black hole is beginning to collapse. According to our sensors, the gravitational field is becoming unstable. If we don’t pass through now, we may lose access to the Earth system for a very very long time. Years even.."

The deck fell into stillness.

Even the quiet hum of the consoles felt heavier now.

Cealus’s brow furrowed slightly as he turned his face toward the swirling mass of gravity ahead—the black hole. It pulsed slowly, like the eye of a god, threatening to seal its path shut.

That left them with a choice.

Go after the second prince—whose mind seemed compromised, his vessel lost, location unclear.

Or proceed to Earth.

Where the youngest brother, the Third Prince, remained vulnerable to the growing Grayling threat.

Silence reigned for several seconds.

Then Cealus exhaled slowly, his voice as calm as it was firm.

"...Prepare to move toward the black hole."

There were startled glances—but no protests.

"We’ll send word to the capital and deploy search battalions to sweep this region. Dican must be found, but I will not abandon the third prince to die alone. The Graylings grow bolder every hour."

He stood up then, his golden robe flowing around him like sunlight, and walked calmly toward the front of the deck. His elegant hand lifted toward the holographic chart of the systems ahead.

"Mark the wormhole’s coordinates. Lock navigation to Earth’s moon orbit. Maintain stealth signature on approach."

"Yes, Your Highness!" the crew chorused.

Cealus didn’t turn.

But his voice dropped just slightly.

"...And inform me the moment a signal from Dican’s ship appears."

The stars outside the Farian fleet began to twist.

The fabric of space rippled unnaturally as Cealus’s ship edged closer to the black hole. The gravitational tide swelled, a silent force that yanked at even light itself. The black hole loomed before them like a colossal, breathing eye—its edges stretched thin now, distorted into long threads of light and void. What had once been a circular gate was slowly collapsing inward, forming a strange, spiraling throat of compressed spacetime.

Inside the sleek silver warship, the officers sat tensely at their consoles, eyes fixed on the streaming data. The gravity stabilizers whined softly as the ship aligned itself with the now-narrowed throat of the collapsing black hole.

"Spacetime stabilization field at maximum," one officer reported, his voice tight with strain. "Initiating synchronized warp lock with the singularity."

Cealus sat forward in his chair, brow furrowed, eyes fixed on the spiraling vortex ahead. "How long will the transit take?"

There was a pause—too long.

Then a young navigation technician, clearly nervous, turned around from her post. Her eyes darted to the data again before she finally spoke, voice soft.

"Projecting... five years, Your Highness. Approximately."

A cold silence fell across the command deck.

Cealus didn’t respond at first.

Then his brow creased sharply. "What?"

Another officer stepped forward to clarify, sweat beading on his forehead. "The black hole is no longer stable, Your Highness. As it collapses, it’s narrowing. It’s created... a sort of extended temporal funnel—a tube of distorted time. Travel through it is still possible, but extremely elongated."

Cealus’s voice turned quiet. "But my brother passed through just days ago. How is his crossing unaffected?"

"Because the collapse hadn’t begun yet," the officer said grimly. "Prince Dican’s vessel entered during a moment of relative spatial stability. The black hole was still in its spherical compression phase. But now... it’s closing. The singularity is distorting into a stretched axis. Time inside it flows unevenly."

He stepped forward and gestured to the visual model on the main console—a holographic display of the singularity folding in on itself like a collapsing tunnel.

"What once took hours might now take years."

Cealus’s eyes narrowed, his lips drawing into a thin line. "So if we pass through now—"

"Five years will pass inside the wormhole," the tech finished. "Though only days may pass outside. Depending on planetary relativity... the discrepancy could be severe."

Cealus stood in silence, his tall frame lit only by the fading blue of the control deck’s ambient lighting. The black hole ahead twisted and spun like the eye of a god, ancient and uncaring. Yet, it was not the five-year journey that troubled him most—it was the gnawing fear that by the time they emerged from the other side, Earth may no longer be there.

His fingers tightened around the edge of the command chair. He didn’t say a word for a long moment. Then, quietly, he broke the silence.

"Try contacting General Xing."

An officer near the central communication panel flinched slightly at the order. "Your Highness... we’ve attempted that multiple times," he said cautiously, fingers dancing over the console. "But... all signals are being distorted. The temporal currents of the collapsing singularity are scattering data across untraceable spectrums. Nothing is reaching through. No input, no output."

"So you’re telling me," Cealus said, his voice a low murmur, "that for five years, my youngest brother will be on that planet... surrounded by Graylings... and we won’t even be able to send a message to warn them."

The deck fell into stillness again.

He raised a hand to his brow, rubbing slowly at the tension there. His jaw clenched. For all the vast technologies of the Farian empire, for all their interstellar might—he was still helpless against time itself.

"Five years," he muttered under his breath. "Five years in the hands of fate. And only one man to protect him."

The image of Xing appeared in his mind—stoic, unwavering, calm even in the face of battle. Cealus closed his eyes briefly. If anyone could survive that long, if anyone could protect the third prince from the full force of a Grayling onslaught, it was him.

He trusted Xing.

He had to trust Xing.

More than just a soldier, Xing was... the one destined to be with his brother. The mark of cosmic pairing had revealed itself years ago—threads that bound two lives across time. There were few bonds deeper in Farian culture than that of destined mates.

He turned from the console and began to pace, the soft rustle of his robe brushing the steel floor.

If Earth fell... if Xing fell... what would be left?

He couldn’t afford to think that way. Not now.

His voice cut the silence like a blade. "Set an automatic course to Earth."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Prepare the cryo chambers for long-term suspension."

The crew immediately moved to comply, lights flickering as system subroutines began executing. The deck vibrated slightly as the stabilizers powered up, preparing for sustained high-gravity tension during interdimensional passage.

Cealus remained at the helm for one final glance. The swirling throat of the black hole shone like a thread of molten silver—long and winding. He could not go to Dican now. He could not help Xing. Not yet.

But he could prepare to arrive with vengeance if they failed.

He lifted his gaze to the stars one last time, the glint of them cold in his eyes.

"Hold on, little brother," he whispered. "Don’t die before I get there."

And with that, he turned and left the bridge.

Behind him, the ship’s systems shifted into stasis mode, and the countdown to cryosleep began.