Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3

Prologue

Birthing Chamber, Sovereign

For the longest time, there was nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to feel, nothing to know, save for the comforting blackness of the abyss.

And then the world exploded. Comforting darkness turned to blinding light, peaceful silence destroyed by the roar of existence, and blissful ignorance fell to pieces as feeling and thought crashed in. Disorientation, confusion, fear, and then panic, until his lungs found their purpose and his heart its rhythm. For a brief moment, silence fell again, and he wondered if this odd state was temporary, if the void would reclaim him and take him back to how things had been before.

But then there were voices, hushed and expectant, and then the people surrounded him, gilded skin glimmering in the dull light, mouths parted into perfect "o"s of awe, their voices becoming more distinct as they moved closer.

"She really did it."

"I can't believe it."

"He's perfect."

He didn't know who they were, or where they'd come from, but he wished they'd go back to wherever they'd been before. It was too much, too close, too fast. He felt something be slipped around his waist, something soft but secure, something he liked far better than the array of touches and taps being placed across his skin by hands he didn't know. On his arms, his back, his hands, his neck, they were everywhere, feather-light and fleeting, as if they feared retribution for their actions. But as much as he wished to push them away, to make his discomfort well known, he couldn't. He knew his enemy, and these weren't them. These were his friends, his people...

But how did he know that?

"Step aside."

The touches vanished as the people rushed to flank the sides of the room, hands clasped and heads bowed. Respect. The word popped into his head unannounced, but as much as he wished to understand it better, it faded away from his thoughts as his attention turned to the new speaker.

A woman stood at the front of the room, dressed from head to toe in a sleek black jumpsuit, her golden hair pulled back into a pristine bun. Her face held no emotion, but her eyes were cold, calculating, and pinned on him.

Ayesha. Her name was Ayesha. High Priestess of the Sovereign, creator of the most perfect being alive.

Him. She'd created him.

The information came in a rush, though none of it was surprising, as if he'd heard it before but never given it much thought. He didn't like that feeling. Knowing, but not knowing.

"You really did it."

The comment came from the man standing beside Ayesha, his purple attire in drastic contrast with the gilded room around him. Unlike his companion, he wore an emotion like those of the first people. Awestruck. Another word he knew but didn't know how.

"Of course I 'did it.'" Ayesha turned her head ever so slightly towards the man, one eyebrow raised. "The Sovereign are successful in any venture they pursue."

The man ducked his head. "Of course, High Priestess." His manner was respectfully docile, but the edge of his tone was anything but.

Ayesha gave him the faintest nod of acknowledgement before turning her attention to her creation, and finally, the slightest smile appeared on her lips. "After all this time..."

She stepped away from her companion as she moved to meet him in the center of the room, and he forced himself not to flinch when she reached up to cup his face in her hands.