nce upon a time, on a planet drifting solely on its own, in its own, very well balanced orbit, a family of three lived and maintained peaceful lives. Being cut off from the rest of the universe was hard, and was never something considered by the rulers of their world.

'Picking up from where I left off,' remarked an aging, worn out alien, with long, overgrown hair, his long, wrinkly face glowing in the eyes of his son.

The young child, Octavian, sat upright on his bed under the enclave within the cave they called home. His father, Montrose, was reading him a goodnight story, one he hoped would send his son to sleep.

Montrose enjoyed thrilling his young Vogan son. In the old days, when Octavian was just a baby in arms, Montrose would sing to him. At times, that was when he was most silent, somehow aware of how his father didn't really have to try.

Now, at six years old, Octavian was, like his younger self, still very much enthralled by what not only his father, but family had to offer him.

Whilst telling the tale of how Montrose's forefathers fought off an invasion by the deadly Cybermen, deep in the mind of the storyteller burned an evil truth, one of which Montrose had kept from his family well.

As he recalled the night he heard gunfire and cries for help, he looked upon his son, sat in his bed opposite him, as if he saw himself almost in his son's position. He saw through his son's physical expressions how vulnerable he was, at the age when he first stumbled upon the lone Cyberman stalking the caves of their planet Voga. He had remembered how frightened he had been, at Octavian's age, to have come across such a monster.

'Father,' said Octavian, yanking his father's clothes, trying to raise his attention.

Montrose shook his head, snapping out of his crazy mood. He looked upon his son, his eyes fresh, and his mannerisms odd.

'You were saying…' added Octavian, a little hesitant, his father seeming a little tired, or perhaps such memories evoked mental stress, pain, and strange emotions.

'Oh was I? Then I conclude, and wish you a goodnight,' he replied, a little lost in his own story.

'The end?' pondered Octavian.

He watched as his father left his bedside, tripping over small rocks as he kicked up gold dust, stumbling past cave rocks that resembled cones in shape, but claws also.

Something was wrong with Montrose. Up until now, he was able to hide the fear behind his eyes, keep his secret to himself, but his son had caught on his drift.

It had only been a mere month, and yet he had been able to keep it from his wife, as well as those he served in the 'Established Order', a reminder of those who defeated the imposing Cyber threat, centuries ago.

His son snuggled under the gold sheets, allowing his mind to wander, to seek out possibilities. Being only six, Octavian was clever. Again, that was something that was inherent in his father's nature.