Part One: The Whispers of Scarcity
Zogar's twin suns scorched the ochre plains mercilessly, witnesses to a civilization starving for what Earth possessed in abundance—wood. In this dying world, it wasn't merely material; it was salvation, hope crystallized.
Emperor Zar stood before his council, face hewn from the same unforgiving stone as the barren landscape outside. The chamber's metallic taste matched the bitterness in his voice.
"Our ancestors sailed stellar seas in wooden vessels," he declared, activating a hologram of skeletal starships—ghosts of former glory. "Now our ships rot, our people starve, while distant Earth drowns in forests they take for granted."
The image wavered, casting eerie shadows across faces etched with decades of desperation. Elder Vorak's hand trembled as he reached toward the spectral fleet.
"My son died searching for resources in the Outer Belt," he whispered, voice cracking. "Now you propose we risk everything on a journey through the void? For a planet that might be myth?"
Zar's eyes flashed dangerously. "Not myth. Salvation." He slammed his fist down, making the hologram shudder. "You've seen the scans. Earth exists—bursting with what we need to survive. What choice do we have? Wait here to die?"
Elder Lyra, whose silver hair seemed to capture what little light remained in the chamber, leaned forward. "And Earth's defenders? Have you considered what awaits us?"
A predatory smile spread across Zar's face. "Primitives. They squander their abundance, building trinkets while understanding nothing of the cosmos." His voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "Imagine it—enough wood to rebuild our fleet. To breathe life back into Zogar."
The council chamber fell silent as the implications sank in. Outside, the wind howled through abandoned streets, carrying dust that had once been farmland.
"How many ships remain functional?" asked Lyra, already knowing the answer would be too few.
"Enough," Zar replied with disturbing certainty. "We don't need an armada—just one successful landing. Their defenses are laughable. Their weapons, children's toys compared to ours."
Vorak's eyes narrowed. "You speak as if you've already given the order."
The emperor's silence was confirmation enough. In the hologram's blue glow, his face transformed—no longer merely desperate but hungrily triumphant.
"The advance scout leaves tonight," he finally said. "By next cycle, we'll know Earth's vulnerabilities. And then—" his fingers curled into a fist, "—we take what is ours."
As the Elders departed, terror and hope battled in their hearts. None saw the shadow that detached itself from behind the council doors, nor heard the swift footfalls racing toward the city outskirts—where a small smuggler's vessel waited, its coordinates already set for a distant blue planet.