EREBUS
As our spaceship pierces through the clouds, I lean back in my seat, arms crossed behind my head, watching the planet Neverland unfold beneath us. The two pilots in front of me murmur to each other in their native tongue, adjusting the controls with sharp precision, but I barely hear them. My eyes are locked on the view outside the glass.
Neverland has changed.
We break through the last mist layer, and the city rises to greet me—alive, warm, proud. A wide river cuts through its center like a silver blade, glowing under the soft morning sun. The water glistens, calm and smooth, while boats drift lazily across the surface, each one leaving gentle ripples behind. It's peaceful. Too peaceful for a world that once knew chaos.
Tall buildings stretch into the sky on both sides of the river, their glass faces catching the pink and orange hues of sunrise. One tower stands taller than the rest—round, golden, bold. It watches over the water like a silent guardian. Around it, clusters of green burst to life—parks, trees, gardens—softening the metal and concrete with a touch of earth.
Bridges cross the river at intervals, connecting the city like stitched threads in a living body. I spot cars inching across them, people moving like ants, beginning their day. Further out, the city spreads wide, endless rows of buildings pressed close together, like the planet is holding its breath.
From up here, the city doesn't just look alive—it feels it. I can almost hear its pulse, steady and strong beneath the hum of the engines. Neverland has grown. It has evolved. But something about it… still belongs to me.
I tilt my head slightly, a slow smirk forming. "I'm home," I whisper to myself.
And this time, I didn't come alone.
MINUTES LATER....
The heavy bronze doors swing open without a creak, as if they still remember me. The scent of jasmine and old cedar meets me first—faint but deep, like something that's lingered in the air for centuries. I step in, and the Throne Hall of Abdeen Palace rises before me.
The floor beneath my boots shines like water. Marble—pure white and streaked with gray veins—stretches out in every direction, polished so well I can see the ceiling in it. That ceiling, impossibly high, is covered in gold-leaf carvings and painted with scenes of Egyptian glory—pharaohs and gods dancing through clouds, their eyes locked in divine judgment.
Columns line the hall, tall and thick, their surfaces carved with vines and lotus flowers. Some are wrapped with red and gold silk, rippling gently in the breeze from unseen vents. On each wall, massive oil paintings rest in golden frames, each telling stories of conquest, of diplomacy, of Cairo rising from the dust.
Light pours in through tall arched windows draped in heavy velvet curtains—deep crimson with tassels of gold thread. The sunlight hits the crystal chandeliers above me, scattering little sparks across the room. Everything glows. Everything is alive.
And at the far end, elevated by three marble steps, the throne waits.
King Khedive Ismail sits upright in it, his hands resting calmly on lion-shaped arms carved into the chair. He looks exactly how I remember him—older, heavier maybe, but no less sharp. His coat is midnight blue and stitched with golden vines curling along the lapels and cuffs. A green silk sash runs across his chest, pinned with stars and medals. On his shoulders, golden epaulettes gleam. His red fez casts a soft shadow over his brow. There is power in his posture, but warmth in his eyes.
He stands as I approach.
"Who are you, and what gifts have you brought to me?"
Then they appear—descending the side steps like drifting petals.
Shehret Feza Hanim, his first wife, walks with grace carved from time itself. Her robe is royal purple, velvet that catches the light in waves. Silver thread wraps around her sleeves and hem in the shapes of flowers. A wide belt of sapphires hugs her waist. Her veil is light gray and almost sheer, pinned with a diamond brooch above her brow. She doesn't smile, but her eyes study me—calm, regal, measured.
Jananiyar Hanim follows close behind, softer in her steps but no less present. She wears a forest green gown made of layered silk, the bodice pressed close to her frame with silver embroidery shaped like vines and peacock feathers. Her veil is draped loosely, letting her long black hair fall freely over one shoulder. Pearls line her neck and wrists. Her expression is kind, like she remembers the stories Ismail used to tell of me.
Jeshm Afet Hanim is striking—her dress a deep shade of ruby red, with golden threads embroidered into rising suns along the hem. The dress is cut with care, flaring at the sleeves and floating just above her slippers. Around her waist is a fine silk scarf, knotted at the side with a golden charm. She wears a small tiara, its diamonds catching every ray of light. She walks with fire in her eyes, chin high, proud.
And then Shafaq Nur Hanim, the youngest. She moves quietly, almost shy. Her gown is sky blue and so thin it shifts with every breath. Tiny silver stars are stitched into the fabric, like a sky caught in motion. A white veil covers her hair, pinned with soft blue flowers made of glass. Her hands are folded in front of her, her gaze flicking from the floor to my face and back again. There's curiosity there. And wonder.
Behind them stand two guards in ceremonial uniform—scarlet jackets, polished boots, and sashes across their chests—but they make no move. Not while I'm here.
Ismail steps down from the throne.
"Erebus??" He asks, voice rich and low, "Is this really you?"
I smile, stepping forward, boots echoing softly on the marble.
"Long time no see, my oldest friend."
He laughs, reaching out.
And just for a moment, the throne, the gold, the velvet, the years between us—none of it matters.
We are boys again. But only for a moment.
"Look at you." I said, laughing with full happiness
"Look at you too. Your dress now represents power and authority. And you're now more muscular than before."
"Oh, I miss you so much, Khedive!" I said, hugging him tightly
"It's so good to see you again." King Khedive said
"Do you know him, Father?" A young lady asked him
"Of course, Princess Tawhida. This is Erebus, my one and only true childhood. We had done hundreds, thousands."
I laugh, shaking my head; "Come on, stop it."
"What do you mean stop, E-boy?" Khedive Ismail asks, chuckles and wraps his left arm on my shoulders
"One of the most interesting and entertaining day of our lives was The Chariots Race, after the day you visited me."
"You want to hear how your Uncle Erebus nearly destroyed the temple of Neverland?" Khedive says, lips curving into that smug grin I haven't seen in years.
His wives chuckle. The daughters nod, eyes wide.
"Ah, where do I begin? The sun was blazing, the palace guards were betting, and your uncle—well, he was already cheating before the race even started."
"I was not," I mutter under my breath.
"He was," King Khedive insists to his audience. "He nudged his wheel just ahead of mine on the starting line. I said, 'You know that's not fair.' And he said, 'I'm not fair. I'm faster.'"
The princess laugh, completely hooked. King Khedive continues with flair. "So we take off—dust flying, slaves diving for cover, and your uncle already swerving like he's drunk."
And suddenly—
---
FLASHBACK – YEARS EARLIER – MIDDAY SUN OVER, NEVERLAND.
The world was wind and heat. The reins burned in my hands, the horses snorting fire as they charged through the palace gates. Khedive was right beside me, golden sash whipping behind him, shouting over the roar of the wheels.
"Try to keep up, little brother!"
"Try not to lose in front of the entire kingdom!"
We cut through the narrow streets—dodging baskets, tilting past startled camels, upending a cart of pottery that shattered like thunder. Civilians screamed. Guards scrambled. Builders abandoned scaffolding as our chariots sliced under wooden beams and through clouds of dust.
I leaned into the corner just before the temple, heart pounding. Khedive tried to overtake me on the outside.
"You'll never make that turn!" he called.
"I don't need to make it!" I shouted back, grinning.
My wheel kissed the stone edge—just barely—then caught something. The world spun. One blink I was flying, the next I was buried under a pile of shattered melons and the sharp stink of goat cheese.
Khedive skidded to a stop and jumped out, laughing so hard he nearly tripped over his own robes.
"I knew it!" he cried. "You always aim for the dramatic exit!"
I threw a melon at him. He ducked.
"Shut up and help me up."
"Only if you admit I won."
I groaned. "Fine. You won—at crashing less spectacularly."
---
BACK TO PRESENT – THRONE HALL OF ABDEEN PALACE
Khedive finishes the tale with a dramatic sigh. "The priests were furious. One tried to curse me, the other tried to bless Erebus out of pity."
Princess Fatima bursts into laughter, nearly falling over.
"And you know what your uncle said to the high priest?" Khedive adds.
"'The nose was crooked anyway,'" Princess Fatima replies, giggling.
They all laugh again. I look at him, smiling to myself.
That race… it was never about winning. Not really. It was about freedom. About fearlessness. About being young and foolish and thinking the universe would always be ours to outrun. Two brothers, side by side. Back then, we didn't know what it meant to lose each other.
But now—here I am.
I step forward, my boots echoing softly across the marble floor of Khedive Ismail's throne room. Gold tapestries ripple gently with the wind, but the atmosphere is heavy—watchful. Everyone in the hall waits for me to speak. I don't come with celebration or laughter this time.
"Alright, that's enough," I say, lifting a hand. "I didn't return to Neverland for old riddles or friendly greetings. I've come with a request."
Khedive sits atop his throne with that same boyish smile he's always had. His wives sit gracefully at his side, and his guards stand like stone, alert but not hostile. Yet.
"Oh? And what is it you want, brother?" he asks, warmth in his voice.
That word—brother—catches in my chest like a blade turned sideways. I force a bitter smile.
"Brother?" I echo quietly. "Khedive, in my heart, perhaps you are. But we both know things can't be like they were."
His brow furrows, confusion creeping into his face. "And why not? What's changed?"
"You already know what I am now." My voice lowers. "A Helios. One of the most powerful beings in the multiverse. And I've been summoned. By someone greater than either of us."
He leans forward. "Summoned… by who?"
I meet his eyes.
"The one some call the god of villains. The king of them all. Goliath."
His face drops like a stone. The room stills. I don't flinch.
"He's ordered me to gather the infinite weapons. I've already claimed two. I came here for the third."
Khedive's expression hardens. The warmth drains from his voice.
"You serve him?" he asks slowly, rising to his feet. "You serve Goliath? A Sentry Giant? The traitor to their family?"
"Don't call him that," I snap. My voice is sharp, cold. "Goliath never betrayed his family."
"Is that what he told you?" Khedive climbs the throne stairs, his wives following behind, silent but tense. "You believe his version of the truth?"
"I believe what I lived."
"You mean the Fortune Helmet," he says as he sits again. "You came for that."
I nod. "You knew I'd come."
He sighs, looking almost sad. "Out of all the gods… all the Sentry Giants… you chose the one who serves Lucifer."
I clench my fists. "Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn't. But you don't know what he's done for me."
"You've said that already."
"No, listen." I take a breath. "When I returned from visiting this planet, my father—our father—changed. He became cruel, merciless. He called me weak… pathetic. Just because I showed mercy. Just because you and my mother taught me compassion. To love. To protect the vulnerable."
The memory stabs through me like lightning. I pause, the weight pressing down on my chest. But I can't stop now. I won't.
"I was banished. Exiled for saving young soldiers from a war they didn't deserve to die in."
Khedive's voice softens. "Erebus... I'm sorry. Truly, I am. But that doesn't explain why you serve the servant of Lucifer."
"He found me in exile!" I burst out. "He fed me, trained me, gave me purpose when I had nothing. He raised me to become the strongest Helios alive—an Emperor. He made me who I am."
"And now you need the Helmet. For what?"
"He's adopted ten teenagers. Each of them has a gift, a power. He's trained them, but without the infinite weapons, they'll never reach their potential. They'll be vulnerable."
I take a few steps closer, standing just before the stairs that lead to his throne. My voice drops, calm but firm.
"Please, Khedive. Hand over the Fortune Helmet. Let me leave in peace. Don't force my hand."
He looks down at me, and the sadness is gone. Replaced by fire.
"Force your hand?"
His tone turns cold as steel. "Get out of my palace."
"Khedive…"
"Now. Don't make me say it again."
I say nothing. I just look around—at Shehret, Jananiyar, Jeshim, Shafaq. At the guards. At the people I once called family. Innocents.
I could kill them all.
Not today. Not yet. But if I return…
If I come back for what's mine, there will be no restraint. No hesitation.
I didn't fail to retrieve the War Gauntlet. Or the Alabaster Box. And I won't fail here either.
I lower my gaze. My voice is quiet, almost a whisper.
"Long live the king."
Then I turn… and walk away.
To be continued....