A Tradition of Treason
by Shadow RangerDisclaimer: I do not own the Power Rangers, they belong to their respective copyright owners and are used here without permission. No money is being made from this fic.
Authors Note: This is an alternate universe from the television show with an alternate timeline.
A Tradition of Treason
Triforians were always a bit different from everyone else in the galaxy, and not just because of their shiny cities or spiral-shaped continents. The real difference was in how they were born. Most of the time—almost always, really—Triforian pregnancies led to triplets. Not identical ones, but fraternal. Three separate kids, each with their own look, mind, and attitude. But the weird part? Every single birth brought three brand new souls into the world. Always three. No more, no less.
Usually, those three souls ended up in three separate bodies—one for each triplet. Each kid was their own person from the start. Just because they shared a birthday didn't mean they had to stick together forever. Triforians grew up encouraged to find their own path. One might become a poet, another a pilot, and the third might run off to join the priesthood or become a warrior. That freedom to be different was seen as a strength. Their society ran on balance, not sameness.
But once in a while, something rare happened. A baby would be born alone. A single child, carrying all three soul-pieces inside them. Those were called Singulars. They were whole in a way most people weren't—mind, body, and soul all fused together. Some of them, especially the strong ones, learned how to split off parts of their soul and actually manifest them—physical versions of their inner selves. It didn't happen often, but when it did, it usually ran in royal blood. The ruling family of Triforia had more Singulars than any other.
At the complete opposite end of the spectrum were twins. They were so rare most people only ever heard of them in stories or old medical records. And even then, twins made people nervous. Something usually went wrong in those births. The soul-splitting process didn't divide cleanly. Maybe one twin got more of the soul than the other, or maybe part of the soul broke entirely. One of the twins would often be weaker—physically, mentally, emotionally. And most of the time, that twin didn't make it to adulthood.
Losing a twin like that wasn't just a personal tragedy—it had spiritual consequences too. People believed that when a twin died, the surviving one might get stuck with a damaged soul. It could twist them, make them unstable or unpredictable. Some feared it could even lead to corruption, like some kind of rot that spread from the broken soul into the rest of the person.
Then there was one more odd case, even stranger than the rest. Every so often, a triplet would be born, but one of them—just one—would have more than one soul fragment inside. They looked like everyone else, acted like everyone else, but inside, they carried two or even all three soul-aspects. It wasn't common, but when it did happen, it almost always showed up in the royal family. Some said that kind of soul-mark wasn't random at all—that those kids were chosen by the Golden Goddess herself.
And if that was true, then it made sense why those rare few were destined to become the Gold Ranger—Triforia's greatest protector. A warrior who could bear the power of the Golden Power Staff, drawn directly from the Morphin Grid itself. Not just a fighter, but a living symbol of balance and unity, chosen not by birthright alone, but by the soul they carried within.
His name was Minion 31416 - he prefered the given name of Harbinger - and he had an agenda: to destroy the Power Rangers and - reluctantly - unleash Dark Specter upon the multiverse. The first steps had already been taken, removing the possibility of aid from Aquitar. The next step targeted Triforia and its Gold Ranger. Without the Alien Rangers and Gold Ranger as backup, the Rangers could not afford to lose a single battle. He didn't care about Dark Specter and his desire for a body or anything else for that matter. He was going to destroy the Rangers and then conquer the planet.
And so he decided to move ahead with the next part of his plan: the removal of the Gold Ranger. And Harbinger teleported to Triforia, a world where technological and spirituality had been combined in an atmosphere of learning and development. The royal family were seen in the same ways as the Egyptians of Earth had once viewed their Pharaohs. They were gods to be worshipped and adored by the population, their word to be obeyed above all others. The Nebka dynasty had reigned over the world for hundreds of thousands of years with one king succeeding another to bring a continuing sense of security and wealth to their people.
And while their beliefs made them appear simplistic, their society was anything but backwards. Art and music were valued, science reaching greater levels of development as their space exploration continued. Their soldiers were as capable with swords and shields as they were with bio-suits and antitank rockets. They were a race that while facing forward had never forgotten the dark past they had left behind.
Time had passed and some parts of the old ways had disappeared, making way for the new. Triforia had evolved, but while some of their superstitions had been left behind, the belief in the Golden Goddess who had bestowed on the people the means to protect themselves and the position of the Royal Family as their greatest protectors.
It was therefore amusing to Harbinger that his plan involved turning a member of the Royal Family against his own people. He had selected Terr, the black sheep of the family to aid him. Terr had been born a twin, a rarity on Triforia. His brother had suffered a fatal injury decades earlier. And despite a comfortable if limited role in the Triforia dynasty, Terr had agreed to betray his people in return for wealth and power. And once Triforia was under Terr's leadership, they would decline to answer any calls for help from its former allies.
Long ago, Triforia Prime had sent forth ships to colonise its apparently barren neighbours, founding a great commercial empire among the nearby worlds. The Triforian System, as the final commonwealth of worlds came to be known, was blessed with a wide variety of animal and plant life. And although the majority of those on Triforia itself were clearly humanoid, life on the other planets told a very different story.
The system revolved around a single golden sun, steady and warm, and consisted of five planets. Of these, the three primary worlds—Triforia, Drallax, and Zecht—were all roughly Earth-sized, with similar atmospheres and gravity. The two smaller planets, Tralus and Talus, were habitable but heavier, with higher gravitational pulls that shaped the nature and evolution of life on their surfaces.
Triforia, the second planet from the sun, was home to the system's humanoid population and seat of its government. Three moons orbited the planet, casting their silver glow in phases that held ancient cultural meaning, even if few remembered why. In time, the people of Triforia had moved on from the old religions. Their once-vibrant spiritual devotion had dwindled to occasional pilgrimages to sacred sites. Still, science had managed to confirm what tradition had long claimed: that every Triforian was born with three intermingled souls. These souls—often interpreted as Heart, Mind, and Courage—normally coexisted within a trio of siblings. But the most remarkable exception was Lord Trey, the current heir to the throne and the only recorded case of a Triforian capable of manifesting all three aspects of the soul in a single body.
Triforia acted as the heart of the system, its voice on the Galactic Council, and its ruler—the King, or High Lord of Triforia—was effectively the sovereign of all five planets. The ancient role of protector, once held by the King Ranger, had evolved. That title had been replaced with something far greater: the Gold Ranger. Seven sacred artefacts once wielded by past kings and heirs to ensure peace had been melted down to forge the Golden Power Staff, a weapon tied directly to the Morphin Grid. The pyramid tombs of the old kings had been relocated to make room for planetary expansion, all except for the Dark Pyramid—an ominous structure that none dared to touch.
Drallax, the third planet, was a harsh desert world. Warm and dry, it was home to the Dralls—hulking, thick-handed beings who preferred to live underground. Their bodies were built for burrowing, and their surface was a place of scavengers and exiles. Aside from a few mining operations seeking precious metals, most avoided Drallax. Yet it held a sacred purpose. For millennia, Triforians had buried their dead there. Funeral rites ended with the entombment of the deceased in caskets, which were sealed in pyramids and teleported directly into the planet's molten core.
Zecht, the first of the three primary worlds, was strangely Earth-like in environment but chemically different. Its skies carried traces of copper instead of iron, giving the air a pale teal hue and creating life forms that bordered on surreal. Six distinct races coexisted on separate continents. The blue-skinned Ciss were dominant politically and technologically, but there were others: the four-eyed Bevins, the orange-toned Ssi-runs, the green-skinned Dorrsks, and the amphibious Quarren. Zecht could have easily rivalled Triforia in influence, but its people had little interest in galactic politics. They preferred discovery and self-rule to council chambers and power games.
Talus, fourth from the sun, lived under near-perpetual twilight. Its unique orbit meant it basked in full daylight for only one month each year. To survive the chill, Talus depended on artificially controlled weather systems. Its native inhabitants were formidable—green-skinned, sharp-toothed, with enlarged ears and battle-worn physiques. Long ago, they had mastered warfare, then renounced weapons altogether after reaching a brutal pinnacle. Like Triforians, they could split their souls. But where Triforians split into Heart, Mind, and Courage, the Talusians divided into Good and Evil. This strange duality made them both feared and revered. Many served as bodyguards or battlefield tacticians, but they were just as often found in advisory roles, guiding Triforian leaders with eerie clarity and unsettling honesty.
Tralus, smallest of the five, had traded nature for towering metal. Sky-piercing cities and floating platforms filled the skies. It was a place of wealth, where the air was filtered and the soil forgotten. The native Morlos had discovered ways to distil powerful medicines from the minerals in the planet's crust, fuelling a booming pharmaceutical industry. Though expensive to visit and even harder to reside in, Tralus remained a critical hub for trade, politics, and innovation.
It was on Tralus, deep beneath its surface in a forbidden forge chamber, that the Golden Power Staff had been created. The molten remains of the seven ancient artefacts were poured and shaped by unknown hands—perhaps even the fabled Forge Master himself. Legend claimed he had discovered a way to evolve the King Ranger into the Gold Ranger, combining mystical energy and advanced technology through a crystalline core. The Staff had not only become a symbol of authority, but a weapon capable of channelling the wild power known as magic.
Since its creation, the forge had been sealed, locked away under decree of the throne. Only a member of the royal family could open the vault.
One had.
Trey's younger brother, Terr, had crossed into the most secure zone in the Triforian System with help from a shadowy being named Harbinger. Their path was treasonous, their intent clear: Terr planned to take the throne.
Though born of noble blood, Terr was fourth in line—a position that promised neither crown nor influence. He was known to harbour resentment toward the current regime, believing it too soft, too forgiving. His ideology echoed the dark philosophies of past traitors: that only through absolute control could loyalty and order be maintained.
Centuries ago, Terr had been sentenced to death for crimes against the crown. Only Lord Trey's personal intervention had spared his life. To many, that mercy had been an act of compassion. To Terr, it was a humiliation he would never forgive.
After years of imprisonment, he had left Triforia in exile, only to be brought back when it was discovered he had been preying upon the vulnerable on other worlds. Though his off-world crimes couldn't be prosecuted under Triforian law, he remained under constant surveillance. He played the role of the repentant exile well, using the guise of atonement to mask his schemes.
Now, with Trey's condition in question and whispers spreading that he could no longer maintain unity of soul, Terr saw opportunity. The public had begun to murmur about the Gold Ranger's long absences on Earth—a planet many Triforians viewed with disdain. Earth was seen by some as backward, unworthy of the Gold Ranger's time. Those feelings of suspicion and xenophobia were fertile ground, and Terr knew how to plant doubt.
He presented himself as a patriot, a traditionalist. He whispered of strength, of restoring honour. He hinted at divine disapproval, even suggesting that Trey's inability to maintain his soul-form was a sign he had been rejected by the Golden Goddess herself.
Terr knew the law would never grant him the crown. But if he could turn the people in his favour—if an "accident" were to befall the royal family—then fate might do what bloodlines would not.
And Harbinger, of course, had provided more than enough ideas for how such accidents might occur.
"I knew it," Terr breathed as he looked into the hidden depths of the chamber. "The legends were true, this forge is the means to create a weapon that will ensure my reign." Ignoring the fighting that followed, he slipped into the chamber and started the next part of his scheme.
Terr worked quickly because he doubted even the Triforian Guardians would understand his next act. Despite its intention to use murder to gain power the Guardians' leadership had some very strange ideas about justice.
The flames licked around the near molten metal, spitting hot ash and burning anything it came into contact with. The heavy hammer connected with the metal flattening the rectangular blob to a six-inch length so he could bend it back on itself to create a crisp fold. Striking it again the forger continued to build the perfect blade, ensuring a small hole was left near the tip of the blade for the special surprise its victim would soon come to appreciate.
Ash flew from the flames striking his hand as he continued to work. It did not matter because soon all the pain would be worthwhile. He continued hammering until the metal had been folded over a thousand times. Then he set about forging a blade worthy of a king.
Hours passed as he worked diligently, constantly checking to ensure the blade maintained its shape. Soon he was holding a four-foot piece of molten metal in his hand and testing the weight and balance of the blade. The burns on his hand would be meaningless if he succeeded. He had seen the future and it was filled with jewels from the Royal Treasury.
His fingers dug into the scar on his face; picking out the pieces of metal still embedded there from the last time he had confronted the King and Queen. The wound was caused when their favourite son had taken his role as heir and protector a bit too seriously.
Still, it was those fragments that would give the sword that special armour piercing quality. Placing the golden metal into the blade he smiled as it merged with the metal and his blood ensuring a poison fit for a royal family.
A thin layer of clay along the edge of the blade and a thicker layer along the back ensured a mixture of hard and soft metal as he plunged it deep into ice cold water. Taking a handle and cross bar he fitted the sword together, careful to ensure the little surprise embedded in the hilt was fully movable.
Like a dancer he moved around testing the blade to ensure it was fully balance. All the time he was careful not to cut himself knowing that the metal would be poisonous to his race especially when mixed with his blood.
With the blade complete he considered his targets. He wanted to kill them, but to do so would raise too many questions. Better to have them placed under house arrest for their own protection and then brutally murdered by terrorists.
A knock on his workshop door forced him to stop examining his sword and assume the role life had chosen for him.
"Yes?"
"Terr, I was told you wished to see me," Volar said. "I must admit I am perplexed as to why you are here. It is hardly the place for such a prominent member of our society, especially during this uprising."
"There's an uprising?" Terr asked in mock surprise. Volar obviously did not recall how he had gotten to this chamber. As a new advisor on Triforia, Volar had no idea of how Terr liked to operate.
"Yes Terr," Volar stated in a condescending tone. "There is indeed. I am surprised you didn't hear the commotion."
"Did you bring the body guards I requested?" Terr asked, changing the subject.
"Yes," came the reply. "Although I think it would be wiser for you to return to Triforia."
"Come inside Volar," Terr said. "And bring the guards with you."
Volar did as he was asked, his eyes widening when he realised exactly where he was. The guards stood at attention..
"You see Volar, I don't need to worry about being attacked by the Triforian Guardians," he watched as Volar's mouth opened at the mention of the group. "They are fanatically loyal to their leader; a role I have come to appreciate."
Without warning Terr accessed the subspace pocket he had learned to generate as a child. Bringing forth the sword, he attacked, grinning madly as the blade sliced into Volar's skin. He watched with glee as the pained look appear on the retainer's face. Volar howled in pain, holding his shoulder to stop the flow of blood.
"Did you really think that a pathetic little commoner like you would be allowed to tell your ruler to act?" Terr asked venomously. "You have been found guilty of treason against the rightful High Lord of Triforia. The sentence for treason is death and in your case, I have made it especially painful."
The soldiers Volar had brought with him had finally realised what was happening and had drawn their weapons, ready for a battle. Terr laughed, they were more servants than they were guards, and their weapons were simply for decoration. He parried their blows for a few minutes before increasing the force of his own blows to snap their batons. He stabbed all four of them and watched with pleasure as they collapsed as the poison took affect.
Moving with speed so they would not die until he was ready Terr labelled each of them. Volar was labelled as the king the others as Trey, his mother and two sisters. With a surgical strike he cut across four of the heads laughing as the blood ran over the floor. He then turned to the heir to the throne.
"I always knew it would be down to you and me Trey," he whispered before chopping off the other's head. "I can't wait to do this for real."
Taking a space-signalling device from subspace, he sent a message to his allies on board the defence stations positioned around the perimeter of the Triforia System. They in turn activated their weapon arrays, normally intended to head off attacks from the forces of King Mondo, guaranteeing an unpleasant time for any visitors who chose to make an appearance, at least until the Guardians had assembled their vast fleet of stolen and salvaged warships.
Still swinging the sword he walked away leaving the dead bodies of his servants behind. Outside of the chamber he activated the forge's cleaning control. In a matter of minutes any organic material left in the chamber would be reduced to ashes.
"Long live the King!" he chuckled as he made his way to a waiting ship and set course for his home world.
Despite what the official palace statements claimed—usually voiced by one of the King's senior advisors who preferred Trey to remain on Triforia rather than gallivanting across the galaxy—Triforia did not rely solely on the Gold Ranger for its defence.
Yes, the Gold Ranger was the most recognisable figure in the system. He was the symbol of Triforian strength, heritage, and divine favour. But the truth was, Rangers were never meant to stand alone. From the beginning, the Power Ranger legacy had been built on unity—on teamwork—and Triforia's defenders were no exception. Even if public attention was always drawn to the shining figure of their golden champion, there were others who stood beside him in battle.
When the Golden Power Staff had first been forged deep within the subterranean chambers of Tralus, it wasn't the only weapon created. Alongside it, four lesser powers had been crafted—each a spark drawn from the same source of crystallised Morphin Energy that gave the Gold Ranger his might. The vision had been clear: the Gold Ranger would lead, yes, but he would not rule alone. The others would act as his emissaries, guardians of the system, and protectors of its people.
Beyond Triforian borders, however, only the Gold Ranger was acknowledged as a true Power Ranger. His oath of service, tied directly to the legendary Zordon of Eltar, placed him in the wider galactic tradition. Lord Trey had pledged to aid other worlds in times of crisis, Earth chief among them. The other four Rangers, by contrast, were bound to the system itself. Their duty was local and constant. They had never been offered the chance to fight on distant battlefields, nor had they asked for it.
Their powers, while drawn from the same reservoir as the Gold Ranger's, were deliberately restricted. Trey's transformation was powered by a concentrated core of Morphin Energy—a triple-source design that reflected the Triforian soul and shielded him from the strain of such raw force. The others wielded specially forged morphers, channeling the same energy but in more measured doses, carefully contained to ensure safety and sustainability. Their colours—pink, yellow, blue, and green—were said by some to represent the elemental alloys of gold on certain worlds, symbolic extensions of the power they served.
Despite his commitment to Earth and its people, Trey had never failed Triforia. No matter how far he travelled, he always returned when his world needed him. Until now.
This time was different. Though Trey was already en route, he had no idea what awaited him.
Back home, the Rangers had assembled in the palace, standing ready to defend their king in his absence. They had not hesitated when the order came—protect the people, spread out across the cities and regions to calm unrest and prepare for the worst. It wasn't what they wanted. They had wanted to stay, to guard the throne itself. But their king had commanded them otherwise.
So they left, reluctantly, taking positions across the surface of the planet.
So far, they had held their ground without morphing, relying on their training, discipline, and the authority their uniforms still carried among the citizens. But the calm was breaking. The signs were there—in the fear building in the streets, in the subtle currents of energy shifting across the moons. Something was coming. And whatever it was, it would demand more than diplomacy.
Their time of restraint was ending.
Soon, they would need to morph.
"It's Morphin Time!" Zima, the acting leader called. "Blue Gold Ranger Power!"
"Yellow Gold Ranger Power!" Knell called
"Pink Gold Ranger Power!" Fulani cried.
"Green Gold Ranger Power!" Alexia called.
Unlike the Rangers of Earth, the power team of Triforia did not share an appearance. Each wore armour instead of spandex that had been designed at its creation and had never changed. Nor were their uniforms based around colour. That was the reason for the near monochrome appearance of their bodysuits.
"Blue!"
"Pink!"
"Yellow!"
"Green!"
"Triforian Rangers!"
The attackers paused in their attack, awed by the sudden transformation. Despite having heard of Triforia's other Rangers few had ever seen them. Since the Triforian Guardians were mostly from outside the system, it was even less likely they had laid eyes on the new fighters.
When the Rangers charged, the effect was immediate. The Guardians turned tail in fear of what might happen. Those few who were too brave or too stupid to leave soon found that although their powers were not fully developed like those of the Gold Ranger, the Rangers could pack a mean punch. Soon, as the king's troops joined them, they were able to push the invaders back.
A sudden calm filled the scene and although they had no idea why, everyone stopped fighting for a moment. A stranger had appeared, his face hidden from their view. Raising his hands above his head, the stranger lifted his arms above his head and summoned his own armour. Shingle like armour covered his body, building a layer of slats each reinforcing the level below. Zima recognised the armour from somewhere, but couldn't place the familiar feeling.
"Now you peasants will meet your end," the creature breathed.
Zima got his first look at the creature's sword as it was driven into his side. Sparks flew as his suit compensated for the increased force of the blow. The suit's absorption system drained the force of the blow releasing it as heat and light. What Zima had believed to be the legendary Sword of Darkness was nothing of the sort. As the stranger's armour formed, so the sword changed shape into a blade covered in similar slats.
"Bring it on Rangers," the figure hissed.
Knell was first to attack, driving his powerful body into the stranger. His opponent did not move, simply faded so Knell's own strength carried him forward. When the Ranger was behind him, the stranger swung his sword. The gash although small in comparison to some blows was sufficient to send a powerful message to the other Rangers. Never had a weapon penetrated the armoured parts of their costumes. The remains of Knell's knee guard clattered on the ground.
Fulani and Alexia, normally the most reserved Rangers let out a battle cry and charged. With perfect timing they collided with the figure whilst he was off balance and succeeded in knocking him to the ground. Both stood with weapons drawn warning their opponent not to move. He did and they struck.
"Your weapons cannot hurt me," the black clad stranger told Zima as he hit him in the gut. "And your armour cannot protect you from me."
As the words escaped his lip the stranger exploded into action, slicing Fulani across the chest and watching in satisfaction as she dropped her weapons and demorphed. Blood poured from a small wound. The stranger's eyes glowed brighter as he drove the pummel of hilt of his sword into her head.
"Gleechark!" Alexia shrieked as she vaulted into her enemy determined to avenge Fulani. Her foot connected with the stranger's powerful body doing little damage. "Three phase!"
Alexia's body split into three separate forms, tripling her potential to hurt her enemy. To those who were caught unaware the assumption was that she had somehow mastered the ability to split and merge her soul at will. That was far from true. Two of the bodies were simply illusions intended to distract and confuse. The stranger was obviously one of those who knew the secret since he simply laughed as he ignored the duplicates and concentrated only on fighting the real opponent. He blocked her blows and then showed her how sharp his sword was when wielded by an expert.
"A funny thing about that spell, eliminate the real Alexia and it fades." To prove his point he drove the flat of his sword into the real Alexia's throat, knowing full well that his revelation was based on nothing but common sense. He watched as she dropped to her knees and the illusions followed suit. All three dropped to their knees and then two of them vanished.
Still laughing, the figure turned to face the remaining Rangers and attacked, aiming for the already injured Knell. The powerful Ranger fought valiantly
"Combine powers!" Zima shouted to Knell. It was said too late as the stranger's next blow struck the other Ranger's head.
The two faced off, warrior to warrior. They exploded into combat both stretching themselves to the limit, but ultimately Zima was hit across the leg. A second blow landed into his ribs. Zima gasped and dropped his sword. He attempted to fight unarmed but was clearly outmatched. A second blow to the ribs punctured his lung.
As unconsciousness threatened to overtake him, Zima knew he had no chance. He looked up at the masked face and noted the eyes glowing brighter than ever. No, they weren't eyes, they were part of the visor intended to look like eyes.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am your king and I am the one that is going to see you executed for treason!"
Zima searched desperately for a way to escape. Making the flattest fist he could imagine he jabbed directly for the creature's throat. He felt what should have been the windpipe give way under the pressure he applied. With a feral growl the stranger tore his mask away revealing his face. Zima's eyes went wide as he recognised his attacker.
"It cannot be you," he protested. "They forgave you; Trey spared your life!"
"Yes he did," Terr answered. "And soon I'll make him regret that choice."
"Trey will throw you through the dimensional doorway when he finds out."
The figure grinned, "Your precious Lord Trey is on Earth and has no idea what is happening. By the time he does I will have solidified my hold on the star system."
"You're part of the Triforian Guardians aren't you?" Zima asked trying to find his sword. He had finally recognised the armour.
The figure laughed, a cold laugh without any positive emotion. "I like the name Terr better," he said. "And soon I will be king." He walked behind the last Ranger and ignoring Zima's power, kicked him in the back of the head.
"Hurry Your Majesty, we must get to the shelter," Terr said his voice filled with concern a few minutes later.
Overhead he could see the battle between the Triforian Guardians and the Royal Guard. The Guardians were winning.
"Father, we must help our people," Trianna protested.
As the oldest sister she had chosen to pursue magic as her future art form. Already she was an accomplished psychic, able to link different parts of the kingdom together with her insight.
"There is no time," Terr replied. He was desperate to get this family to the safety of the Royal Bunker.
Triforia's defence forces had scrambled and were picking off the attackers who attempted to land on the planet. The battle overhead sounded like the attackers were winning.
"Look!" Queen Trania shouted. In the distance they could see the spot where the Rangers had been slaughtered. The remains had been placed on pikes to inspire fear. "We must aid them."
"No Ma'am," Terr said quickly. "Tradition demands that the King and Queen are guarded from harm and not allowed to fight in Triforia's troubles."
"A stupid rule," the King muttered but he knew Terr was correct. He was bound by traditions set down in the history of their world. "I must remember to set some new traditions."
"Even so," Terr smiled. "For the time being you have no choice but to obey your defender. Or shall I call back our forces to make you obey. You could almost say that until I deem the emergency over, I am king."
The King knew Terr had won this round. He had taken a rule created to prevent the loss of a sovereign and used it to gain control of Triforia.
"Cheer up," Terr smiled. "It'll be all over very soon."
Something about Terr's tone concerned the King, but he let it go. Soon they were in the shelter designed to act as war room in times of trouble. As the door slammed shut Trania noticed the sword in Terr's hand.
"Terr, you know you are not allowed to carry a sword," she said. The ruling had followed a drunken brawl in which Terr had killed a man. As punishment her son Trey had proclaimed that Terr could never again carry a sword.
"Oh but I am," Terr replied. "The King is allowed to do anything and I am the King!"
As the words escaped his lips, Terr drove his sword into the King's heart. Trinus's eyes opened wide but no sound escaped his equally wide lips. The King dropped to the floor as Terr advanced on the now hysterical Queen.
"If you three ladies would care to stand still I can make this very painless for you. The King has been brutally attacked and you three are the witnesses. As such you are under arrest and will be secured as prisoners until such time as the traitor is caught and you can testify against him."
Trianna blasted him with her magical powers, tapping the mystical energies around her and directing them at her father's killer.
"Please!" Terr droned with a voice that sounded both bored and annoyed. "Don't do that."
Trianna hit him again, but he simply laughed and slapped her across the face, levelling the sword to her neck.
"Try that again and there will be more than one death today," he warned.
Moments later the door burst open and she was relieved that help had arrived.
"Terr!" Tristan growled.
Tristan was Trey's oldest cousin and was next in line to the throne if should anything happen to his cousins. Behind him stood six of the king's finest guards.
"You disappoint me Cousin," Terr hissed. "I thought you would have killed them by now."
"Always the picky one aren't you Terr?" Tristan asked. While Tristan could count Trey on one side of his family, he was related to Terr through his mother.
He spun on his heel and blasted the guards. They collapsed to the ground as the queen and her daughters realised that he had joined the conspiracy.
"You can't kill them," Tristan said.
"And why not?" Terr asked.
"Because we need them to renounce power once Trey is convicted!" Tristan answered, laughing at the look on the queen's face. She looked devastated.
"Tell our forces to secure the other planets," Terr ordered. "Triforia is mine." He looked down at the fallen king. "And call a doctor. It would be better if he died i someone else's care."
Despite the state of almost martial law and the ban on interplanetary communications and travel, things remained calm of Triforia. Terr had followed Tristan's advice and retained the king's advisors as a symbol of the continuity of state. Of course they had no power and were forced to work at gunpoint, but they were still there. It was now a week since Terr had swept to power and life was returning to normal. The royal guard had been disbanded and replaced by the Triforian Guardians.
Prince Terr's coronation was an event long to be remembered in Triforian history. The nobles had looked for any loophole to remove him from power, but found none. Ferin had even supported the application stating that tradition came first. In truth they realised that any attempt to remove him from power would result in blood shed. They could always proclaim the coronation illegal at a later date.
A long possession had taken place from the palace to the Temple of the Golden Goddess to ask for her blessing. The High Priest had conducted the ceremony flawlessly to the point that several people were waiting for. For Terr it would act to ensure his future commands would not be rejected. For the High Council it was their last chance of salvation.
"Does any person here know of a reason why Prince Terr should not be declared our King and keeper of the Golden Power Staff?"
There was no reply. The positioning of Triforian Guardians throughout the crowd had ensured the process was not disrupted.
"Then by the power of the Golden Lady, I pronounce thee King of Triforia," the priest said. "All hail Terr."
"Hold!" one of the courtiers, cried. "Terr cannot be king."
"Explain," Terr said in a menacing tone.
"Terr is a former criminal guilty of treason. Only if he is forgiven by a former monarch or the Lord of Triforia can he be allowed to hold an office of power." The courtier deliberately addressed his comments to the crowd and not Terr. "Since the other members of the Royal Family are under arrest, only Lord Trey himself can appoint Terr as King of Triforia."
At Terr's gesture the man was dragged away for what he told the crowd was further research. Inside though he knew he needed Trey on Triforia. He had heard the heir was on the way, but had no idea where he was.
"Terr! Terr!" was the shout from the crowd.
"Thank you, my people," Terr said. "This matter will be resolved. If Trey is alive, we will find him and bring him here to rule. If he declines, we will convince him to name me as the king. We will grow stronger though, this I promise you."
With that he turned and walked away with Tristan at his side. "Contact Huntrax for me Tristan," he said firmly when he was certain nobody would hear. He would be king, even if he had to destroy the planet to do so.
Terr knew the situation on Triforia would destabilise quickly if Trey was arrested, but he needed to do so to secure his position as king. The Triforian Guardians' elite squadron had crushed the pockets of resistance that had refused to accept Terr's coronation, quickly, but the uncertainty recent event had caused threatened to ignite overt resistance. The entire system had been brought to its knees in honour of Terr and his new heir Tristan only to witness their new master's embarrassment when a loudmouthed courtier had dared to interfere.
In the past, the Triforia Star System had been annexed to a great empire, which later fell when its ruler vanished. Released from tyranny, the Triforian Guardians had tried to seize the reigns of the old power and had steadily conquered world after world. They had even succeeded in taking new worlds that were outside the old empire. In the end though a powerful Galactic Council overthrew them.
Millions of years later, the reputation remained. The creation of the Golden Power Staff and subsequently the Power Rangers had eased the fears of many, but not all. And the descendants of the Triforian Guardians remained as strong as ever behind the scenes.
Even on Triforia itself there were still scars from the past; not all the symbols of the Triforian Guardians were gone. The forge would enable him to make those symbols important again. And the key was the Golden Power Staff and control of Pyramidas. Together with the technology the forge could produce he envisioned a weapon capable of concentrating the power of Triforia's three suns and using them to crush armies. The plan relied upon Pyramidas. When used correctly it commanded a weapon capable of ensuring the Triforian Guardians' continued reign.
Sadly over time and without a suitable leader, the Guardians had lost their knowledge of war. There mighty implements of fear and destruction had been lost, their symbols of oppression transformed into symbols of hope and righteousness.
But Triforia's rulers had failed to completely neutralise the threat of the Triforian Guardians. They assumed that the removal of the Golden Power Staff would be enough. All had forgotten their influence on Triforia, at least outwardly. But Terr had learnt the legends and had felt the pull just as others had before him. He studied everything about the mysterious leader, but couldn't even find his name. However, he had learnt of the enchantments placed on the Golden Power Staff and the monstrous machine named Pyramidas. He had known at that time that he was destined to follow his ancestors' path.
Taking the Golden Power Staff had always been the obstacle, killing the king had been easy in comparison. To start with he had simply dispatched the Varox to kill Trey. But Trey was too stubborn to die and the new friends he made on Earth had protected him and his power. With that failure Terr had tried a different approach. Instead of attacking Trey directly, he had set about reforming the Triforian Guardians. With them serving as a private army, Terr had been able to conquer the entire system, but Trey still eluded him. Now after Minion had told him Trey was en route, he knew the day of reckoning had arrived.
Deep Space
Trey sat alone in the control deck of Pyramidas, despite not being the only soul aboard. The emptiness he felt wasn't due to the silence or the cold metallic hum of the ship—it came from within. A nagging sense of guilt kept clawing at him. Guilt for leaving the Earth Rangers behind so soon after finally regaining his powers. Guilt for disappearing at a time when unity among their ranks had never been more important.
Zordon had told him that it was necessary. That what Trey needed now wasn't another battle, but healing. The restoration of his power hadn't brought balance with it. Quite the opposite. The triple nature of his soul—his very essence—was in disarray, and if he didn't act soon, it might fracture completely. Only on Triforia, with the help of the soul-weaving priests of the old religions, could he attempt to reforge that fragile harmony. Without unity of self, his tenure as the Gold Ranger would be short-lived, and possibly fatal.
There was another reason for his return—one he didn't like to admit. He needed his father's approval. Not as a warrior or a Ranger, but as a leader. Trey had been away too long. The mission to serve as Gold Ranger had taken him far from home and deeper into the affairs of Earth than he'd ever planned. But Triforia was his birthright, his duty, and his people needed a lord whose soul was whole.
Behind him, he could hear voices—Travis and Trent locked in yet another philosophical debate. One spoke passionately, his words punctuated by sweeping gestures and the occasional frustrated exclamation. The other remained measured and composed, responding calmly, never rising to the bait. Despite having once been part of the same person, it was clear the two were growing apart. The division of soul that had once allowed Trey to maintain the unity of the Gold Ranger had split them more than just physically. Their bond, once seamless, was now marked by difference and divergence.
If he was honest, Trey was glad to be heading home. Pyramidas wasn't exactly known for its speed—designed more for power and presence than hyperspace travel—but even a long journey across the stars was welcome if it meant returning to Triforia. It had been years since he'd left to fulfil his charge as the Gold Ranger. His mother had governed with quiet strength in his absence, his father still revered as a symbolic figurehead, but the time had come to reclaim his place. He belonged on Triforia, not orbiting alien skies and battling someone else's wars.
Throughout his travels, he had kept in contact with Ferin and Zared—his most trusted advisors—issuing orders from afar when needed. It was a delicate balance. Every decision he made remotely was filtered through the High Council, and more than once, their interpretation of "tradition" had been used to override him. Leadership on Triforia was less about ruling and more about navigating a minefield of expectations, sacred customs, and political gamesmanship. The Galactic Council had its own brand of bureaucracy, but Triforia's was in a class of its own.
Still, Trey couldn't help but reflect on Earth. For all its chaos, there was a raw, unpolished strength in humanity. Earth's people were volatile and short-sighted at times, but they were also resilient, adaptable, and capable of tremendous growth. Their flaws were real, yes—but compared to the systemic prejudice and rigid hierarchies that existed on many other worlds, Earth felt like a planet with hope.
A soft chime pulled him from his thoughts. The console beside him blinked—an incoming message. He tapped the control and was surprised to see a hologram shimmer into view. It was Ferin.
The aged advisor stood rigid and dignified, white beard flowing like silk down his robe. Trey had always thought Ferin's beard lent him a distinguished air—more wizard than politician.
"Lord Trey," Ferin began, voice formal. "I am sorry to disturb you during your travels, but I bring grim news. Zared was found murdered in his chambers this morning. As of yet, we have no confirmed suspect."
Trey's chest tightened. Zared had been his advisor, his ally… his friend.
Ferin continued, his tone shifting into the rehearsed rhythm of an official message.
"The Council has invoked its traditional powers to elect a new member in his place. Volar has been chosen and is eager to assist you in preserving the prosperity of our world."
Trey exhaled sharply. There it was again—tradition. It was a word that the Council seemed to pull out whenever they needed an excuse to sidestep him. Most of these so-called traditions were invented on the fly, dressed up in ancient language, and passed off as sacred practice. It was becoming harder and harder to believe that the title of Lord meant anything beyond ceremonial weight. If they had their way, he'd be reduced to an annual appearance on the holocam, telling the people to behave and pay their taxes.
Ferin's voice dropped slightly, finally slipping into something genuine.
"I know this doesn't please you, Trey. But the Council would have moved forward with or without your agreement. Volar is a loyal man and has support. He's not without his flaws, but he may help strengthen your position."
Then came the blow Trey had dreaded.
"One more thing... Terr has returned to the Capital."
Ferin paused. "So far, he's obeying the terms of his pardon. Your family remains under protection. I promise you, we're being vigilant."
The transmission ended, the flickering light of the hologram fading from view.
Trey sat still, his hands resting heavily on the armrests of his chair. Terr. The name brought with it a storm of memory.
Once, long ago, Terr had tried to take everything—Triforia, the crown, their father's life. He had nearly succeeded. Trey had been forced to intervene personally, wielding the Golden Power Staff in one of the bloodiest conflicts in recent Triforian history. He had stood over his fallen brother, victorious, yet unwilling to take the final step. He had offered Terr a choice—surrender and live, or fall in disgrace.
Terr had accepted the offer. He had been spared.
Exiled within the system, Terr became a prisoner with no cage, bound by the authority of the High Council. Trey had believed that punishment sufficient. He was beginning to question that judgement.
"Volar!" Travis snapped from behind. "How anyone could refer to him as a valued ally is beyond me."
"He's a good man," Trent replied calmly, "even if he is a little... set in his ways."
Trey turned just in time to see the glint of amusement on Trent's face—he was doing his best not to laugh.
Despite the tension, Trey found himself smiling faintly. These moments of calm, of dry humour and familiar voices, were rare. Soon, they would vanish beneath the weight of political theatre and the spiritual ordeal he had ahead.
He leaned back in the captain's chair, letting the silence fill the space once more. For now, he would enjoy the quiet. He would savour what peace remained.
Had he known what awaited him on Triforia—what his return would truly set in motion—he might have reconsidered the journey altogether.
But some paths, once begun, could not be turned back.
End of Part