Elysius and Phyla-Vell had never been close in the way that mothers and daughters often are. Phyla hadn’t spent her childhood trailing her mother’s skirts, as she’d only been a child for less than a day, and the entirety of that day had been unconscious in a birthing tank. Nor had she spent countless hours absorbing her mother’s wisdom, as all her knowledge had been written onto her brain during gestation by ISAAC, the great supercomputer upon which Titan’s society was founded. Regardless, it was Elysius who’d offered her genetic material and the impetus that gave Phyla life, and by that virtue revered.

Similar could have once been said for her father, Mar-Vell. She scowled to think of him, the sound of his name coiled her rage. For several systems she carried venomous and well-rehearsed words intended for him alone, along with the other, more potent feelings yet to take form.

Her vessel arced toward Sol, past and Uranus toward the system’s second outer planet. It was there on the exo-planetoid in its orbit that she would demand a reckoning. May whatever gods there were grant mercy to those in her path.

PRELUDE

By Miranda Sparks

The winds of Titan were cold and heavy with the taste of metal, but Eros scarcely noticed. He stood at the edge of the landing platform which sat on the far reaches of the city, wearing the traditional red and gold with the carefree smile that was just as much his uniform. 

A point grew in the sky, and after a long minute resolved into the shape of a golden arrowhead; a Kree cruising vessel intended for a minimal crew. It settled onto its struts with a groan.

Though it never wavered, Eros fixed his smile again. Dread bubbled inside him, but he paid it no mind. There were more pressing matters, such as the loose thread hanging from his sleeve, blemishing his otherwise pristine appearance. He pulled it free and discarded it to the breeze.

Hydraulics hissed as the ship’s ramp extended. Its sole occupant stepped from the gloom inside. She was dressed in funeral black, as seemed appropriate. Her mess of silver hair was unmoved by the temperamental winds. Her eyes found her host, and held no warmth; Eros, meanwhile, met her with the appearance of warmth.

“Phyla,” he chirped. “Welcome home. I won’t ask for a hug, dear. I know you’re not one for sentiment.”

She looked past him and toward the city domes. Her jaw wound with a hard grimace. Even on a good day she had little time for pleasantries. Phyla pressed forward, ignoring her host utterly.

Eros sighed and kept apace. “We’ve arranged dinner for you,” he said. “Nothing big. Just a few people.”

Phyla remained persistent in her disinterest.

“The view from the dining hall is exquisite,” he continued. “It comes with a clear view of Saturn’s rings, truly a marvel of nature.”

She stopped and planted her feet. Her lip curled, almost bearing teeth. Phyla’s growl was almost lost in the breeze.

“Where is he?”

Eros reeled in a feign of ignorance. “Where’s who, Phyla? There are so many people who’ll be happy to see you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games with me, Eros. Not here. Not now.”

He held up his hands. “You should take a moment. Breathe. You’ve had a long journey-“

Phyla balled her fists. Her knuckles were white, but her face burned red. “Breathe?” The word was a shard of ice. “You want me to breathe while he walks free!?”

Her voice echoed off the silent structures, reverberating with dark intent.

“Phyla…”

“Where is he? Where’s the man who killed my mother!?”

Eros stumbled as she lunged. His hands were only mildly adequate as a shield. He’d expected this, of course. The young woman always did have a temper. That was only amplified by the fact she had something of substance to be upset about.

She bore down on the Titan and pressed him against the wall. She, too, had anticipated his dismissive banter, though not the violence it stirred in her; violence intended for a more deserving target.

Fortunately for her, that target had also come.

“That’s enough.”

Mar-Vell’s voice was gentle yet stern.

Phyla froze. She didn’t turn, but she released the scruff of Eros’s collar. It was really him, the father she’d never known. The stories of him had shaped much of the person she’d become, even if they’d since turned sour.

Mar-Vell was, by all accounts, just as she’d imagined him; tall, broad-shouldered, with coiffed blond hair on the cusp of becoming a mane. Instead of his costume he wore a simple, pale blue tunic, the color of a morning sky. It fit him loosely, and was belted at the waist with a sash. He looked more like a farmer than an adventurer, more at home tilling soil than soaring the spaceways.

“There’ll be time for words later,” Marv said. He looked on with an expression she didn’t know how to parse. “You deserve room to speak your piece. I’ll listen, and whatever you decide I’ll accept. But not right now.”

Phyla evened her breath, and for the moment reined the beast inside her. This man – her father, a hero, a murderer – had the audacity to come to her carrying airs of peace.

Mar-Vell turned and started toward a nearby dome, leaving her and the floundering Eros to their own devices.

Eros let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. It seemed a miracle that a skirmish hadn’t erupted. He straightened his outfit and his expression. 

“The dinner,” he said pleasantly, “is ready when you are.” With a polite bow, he then turned and followed Mar-Vell into the dome.

It was not the meeting Phyla had imagined. She clicked her tongue. What was she to do? Humor them? She cursed, and followed the path set out for her.

Roasted meats glistened amidst the platters of fruit from the far reaches of the cosmos, enough for the semi-clothed entourage of myriad genders flocked around Eros and their guests with some to spare. It took the dozen of them and their veneer of mirth to adequately part the Vells sitting on either end of the dining table.

“We’ve updated ISAAC, of course,” Eros boasted, lifting his goblet high. “He was already one of the most sophisticated systems in all of history, and now his failsafes are as well. Redundancies upon redundancies, ad infinitum. Subsystems dedicated to a mainframe that no-one, not even Thanos, will be able to hijack again.”

A miasma of sweet and savory scents filled the air, strong enough to entice even the most particular of palettes. Phyla pushed a pale pink vegetable around her plate with a diminishing scowl, though it returned each time she lifted her eyes.

“Then of course there’s the quantum ecosystem,” Eros continued. “We’ve engineered a mycelial network that functions over five dimensions. Can you imagine a retro-causal harvest? A literal timeless bounty from the moment of germination!”

He may as well have been speaking to himself. Phyla’s gaze was fixed on the other end of the table, where Mar-Vell ate in silence, just as much removed as she was from the conversation. He didn’t look at her, or at anyone for that matter. He moved automatically and without exaggeration, fork to food, fork to mouth, repeat.

It was enough to make Phyla hurl her plate, but she didn’t. For why she couldn’t say. By all rights she should have been screaming, smashing windows, and upturning tables. The severity of Mar-Vell’s crimes were greater than her sense of propriety.

Eros pressed gently through the laughter. “What do you think, Phyla? A quantum ecosystem. Isn’t that something?”

She didn’t answer, too fixated on her father’s chewing.

“Phyla?” Eros leaned forward. The silk-clad figures around him pretended not to notice her. “We’re talking about your home.”

Home, he said. The word tasted different now. Even the sound held a different timbre, more hollow than before.

Phyla didn’t slam her utensils down, but the clattering enough that it cut through the jovial din. Eros and company went silent, though their expressions didn’t waver. Mar-Vell continued as normal.

“Is this you?” she asked. 

Eros’s lips smiled, but his eyes did not. “Why, Phyla, whatever do you mean?”

“Every part of me wants to reach across this table and choke the life out of him,” she sneered, nodding to the man opposite. “That’s what I should be doing. Not sharing a meal with him!”

Eros picked up a grape, and polished it on the breast of one of his companions. “Is the food not to your liking? We can have something else prepared.”

“It’s the best meal I’ve ever had,” Phyla spat, “and that’s the problem.” She leaned in and pressed her palms flat on the table. “I can feel you, Eros. In my head, stroking the pleasure centers, plying me with food and talking of a better Titan. But It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. My mother is dead.”

The laughter from the entourage died. The beautiful men, women and androgynes shifted where they sat.

“You won’t rob me of my anger, Eros,” she whispered harshly. “By the stars, I will crush you if you try again.”

After a long wait, Eros’s warmth drained into an expression as stony as his gaze. He waved with a sharp, dismissive gesture to his circle. “Go,” he said, and they did, shuffling with haste in a wisp of silk and finery.

Across the table, Mar-Vell continued to eat. He cut a piece of meat, placed it in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of drink. The small sounds were a blasphemy in the silence.

Eros leaned back in his chair.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Truly, I am,” he said, though his sympathy was cold. “Few things wound as deeply as the death of a loved one.” He swished his goblet. “But the fact remains that Elysius, your mother, traded lives that were not her own with a cosmic force. She made a choice, and expected a whole world to bear the cost.”

He gestured to the other end of the table. “Titan wouldn’t have recovered as it has without his help,” Eros continued.

Phyla’s nails dug into her palms. The heat was returning, pulsing in her neck, rising to her face.

“He’s a murderer,” she said.

Eros grimaced. “Murder was not in his heart when he did what was necessary,” he said. “He slew her to save us all.” 

She drew a sharp breath, and bore her teeth. “You’re really going to defend him?”

“I understand your grief, Phyla. But your father is the savior of this planet, and I’m not about to chastise him for being so.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her. He was, after all, the brother of Thanos. The only difference between the two was that one hungered for destruction and the other for vice. That difference did not denote the existence of a heart.

Her eyes darkened on Mar-Vell. The sight of him churned the hot liquid in her gut.

“I don’t give a damn about Titan,” she said. “I’m here in my mother’s honor. That’s it.”

The legs scraped loudly against the floor as she pushed back her chair. She stood and ignored both men as she marched through the exit.

Mar-Vell did not look up from his plate.

Eros watched the door close. After a long minute he exhaled. His mood didn’t change, despite the return of his grin. 

“That went better than expected,” he said. “I don’t envy you a daughter like her, Marv.”

Mar-Vell paused for the first time.

“She’s entitled to her anger,” he said, then resumed his meal.

Phyla stepped into the empty space that had the appearance of being carved from stone. Gentle illumination with no apparent source warmed the surfaces, shooing all traces of shadow. The walls were lined with broad-leafed plants which had been positioned to center a grand water feature whose gentle trickle soothed the atmosphere.

“Lights out, please, ISAAC,” she said.

The room plunged into darkness save for the dim glow of Saturn’s rings through the skylight. She continued, sauntering around silhouettes of the minimalist decor that had so tickled Elysius’s fancy. Her fingers ran over the smooth textures, between the fronds of plants, and through them stirred memories more vivid than what sight could conjure.

Though it was the home she was born to, she’d never played here, never run through the halls, or fallen asleep anywhere other than a bed. There were, however, the talks; long conversations running well into the night on the universe, ethics, philosophy, time itself. 

And they’d talked about him, Mar-Vell, when he was still just a ghost. It would have been better if he’d stayed that way.

She stopped in front of a familiar figure standing at her height. Dark reflected more dark inside the mirror, save for the faint outline of Phyla staring through it. She leaned closer, searching for a face. Eventually she found her own, but there were others, too. Elysius appeared in the line of the jaw, the set of the eyes.

There was another, as well. Her father, Mar-Vell. He lingered in her cheekbones, in her brow. Both parents were etched into her own skin. The resemblance was almost painful. No matter how far she traveled, she’d never be free of them.

A shiver ran like a needle down her spine. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Only the running water broke the stillness, though it faded the longer she stood.

Phyla was alone, only she wasn’t. It was only by her cosmic awareness that she knew. She stared deeper into the mirror.

“What do you want?” she asked, not with a whisper, but with the certainty of a presence.

No words came. Rather it was a sensation; a feeling of deep, abiding sorrow, like a cold hand resting on her grief. The entity communicated through intuition. It had come to… the word ‘mourn’ resonated with her.

“Mourn?” she scoffed. “You’re an appetite. You don’t have any feelings for the dead.”

The presence shifted. The cold deepened. It spread through the floor. The intuition returned, clearer this time, with pictures clearer than Phyla’s imaginings. Elysius, the bargain, a civilization in exchange for a life, and a debt that remained unsettled.

Phyla drew a sharp breath. She ignored the ice shards forming in her lungs.

“You already have my mother,” she said.

But the entity would not be reasoned with. Elysius, it intoned wordlessly, was not a part of the bargain. Not any one soul for an entire world, but Mar-Vell in exchange for Titan. The terms were clear. Nothing else warranted significance.

Phyla paused. The silence was absolute, more than an absence of sound but a negative force boring into her ears. The same was true of the darkness, though she continued to read shapes.

“What would you have me do?” she asked.

The sensation brushed her mind with a gesture not unlike the pointing of a finger. Phyla’s gaze followed to a counter by a far wall. On it rested a single object, one that had not been there a moment ago. Phyla approached the surface and found upon it a pristine silver dagger.

She reached for it with more care than she would petting a flerken. Its reflective sheen drank the sight of her, as if trying to bond. Of course it did. The blade had manifested just for her.

Flesh touched metal. Frigidness bit her skin and pulsed. Her cosmic awareness flared. She knew where he was; Mar-Vell, sleeping. His bed was clear in her mind, so clear that she may as well have been standing there. 

Her palm gripped the handle, the line between the blade and its intended was a straight line. She didn’t even need to will the thing, only guide it along the arc of its pull.

When she spoke it was with quiet contemplation. “You’d ask me to slay my own father?”

The heavy pressure vanished, but the cold remained. Phyla searched her surroundings. The presence was there – it was always there to some degree, just as it was everywhere – though not as concentrated as before. 

Whether Phyla gripped the knife or the knife gripped her, she couldn’t say. The only certainty was the small object’s unnatural weight.

Mar-Vell slept fitfully. He’d been still for long enough while lying in his grave, and wouldn’t be still while he breathed again. His mind swirled with visions of big things and small, anything to chase away the void.

A breeze from the balcony carried the scent of night blooms. He couldn’t settle without it. He needed the air, the space. The open sky was as far from a box as anything could be.

He started awake. Something was wrong. The room was… different. Something about the air, the way it moved. He lifted his head, and through the haze caught an outline against the cosmos.

“Phyla?”

She was a blur of motion, crossing the room with extranormal swiftness. In an instant she had him pinned under her weight. The object in her hand bit his throat. 

Mar-Vell didn’t fight. It seemed just as much a surprise to him that his actions were calm, though his heart beat wild with the rush of adrenaline. He didn’t relish a second death, so why didn’t he resist?

Phyla loomed. The moonlight revealed in her eyes the storm raging inside her. Fury. Grief. Confusion. They whirled in a fatal cocktail too potent for one person to bear.

She held the dagger steady. Cold radiated from the steel like an icy brand.

“I suppose I should defend myself,” Mar-Vell said.

Yes, Phyla thought, he should. She scoffed. A fight would have eased her conscience. A fight would have given her actions a semblance of honor. Better to extinguish his glory at full blaze than simply snuff it out.

“What Elysius did was wrong,” Mar-Vell continued. “She didn’t deserve to die. If there was some other way…”

Was he trying to goad her? Her chest was a boiling pot of feeling ready to spill over.

Phyla hissed. “Shut up!”

“I loved her, too,” he said, solemnly.

The steel tooth pressed deeper, only a fraction of an inch, but enough to drive the message.

“Shut. Up.” 

A trickle of blood ran down his neck and onto the pillow.

“In another life,” Mar-Vell said, “I wish I could have been a father to you.”

It was a lie. It had to be. A manipulation to avoid execution. Yet to see him, a proud Kree warrior resigned to his end, stilled her hand.

Phyla pressed ever so slightly harder. Her father inhaled, and smiled with a gentle melancholy that would not serve her intent.

“Damn you…”

Phyla seethed and fortified her resolve. This was the moment. If not now, then it would be never. She pulled back and raised the blade. Her arm shook, as though still to decide independently of her where it should land. 

Then she drove the knife down.

The steel pierced the pillow beside Mar-Vell, nicking his ear. The pillow absorbed the blow without incident. Phyla released the hilt, then climbed from her still breathing near-victim.

She looked down on him, still seething with her fists balled, and tried to make sense of it all. Was he too pathetic, too willing? Would ending him have ended the burden of guilt he so deserved to carry? Or worse, did she empathise with him? 

“Damn you,” she said again. “Damn this whole planet. If I never step foot here again, it’ll be too soon.”

Phyla-Vell marched through the exit, no longer trying to conceal herself. Her heavy steps vanished into the corridor.

Eros flew through the chambers as quickly as his psionics would allow, fixed on a single room ahead. He barged through the door where he found Mar-Vell, still in one piece, nursing a steaming up in his hands. 

The mess of his bed, the twisted sheets and the weapon piercing where his head would normally lay, told him all he needed to know about the night’s goings on. 

“Where is she?” Eros asked.

Mar-Vell let out a long sigh. 

“Somewhere far, far away from here.”

Phyla leaned back in the pilot’s seat and stared up through the cockpit’s canopy. The engines hummed low and steady beneath her feet, accelerating at an exponential rate. Titan was but a speck in the distance, behind her in all ways that mattered. After an agonising minute the blue faded into black. 

She stared at the holographic map of the known universe, idly searching for a destination. Anywhere would do. Nowhere was better. Perhaps in the great unknown there was a place she’d be able to forget, and a place that didn’t feel cold.

To be continued…