Volume -1
The world first saw the alien on a winter night near Reykjavík.
A burning silver ship fell from the sky and disappeared into the frozen ocean. By morning, military ships surrounded the crash site, and every news station in the world spoke about only one thing:
First contact.
Inside the ship was a single survivor.
His name was Vael.
He looked young—around Ren’s age—but there was something strangely beautiful about him. Pale silver hair floated softly around his face underwater, his skin carried faint glowing patterns like moving stars, and his eyes reflected light unnaturally, almost like glass.
People feared him immediately.
Ren didn’t.
As one of the youngest scientists on the orbital research station Eirene, Ren was assigned to study the alien’s biology. Everyone expected a monster or a genius beyond human understanding.
Instead, Ren found someone exhausted and painfully alone.
The first time Vael woke up, he stared at Ren silently for almost a full minute.
Then he spoke.
“You are male.”
Ren blinked. “Uh… yes?”
Vael tilted his head slightly, studying him.
“Your hormones, heartbeat, skeletal density, and neural patterns identify you as biologically male.”
Ren laughed awkwardly. “That’s… kind of terrifying.”
Vael seemed confused by the reaction.
“My species detects biology naturally,” he explained calmly. “But humans appear emotionally more complex than physical classification.”
That sentence stayed inside Ren’s head long after he left the room.
Vael’s species, the Asterians, had no male or female genders.
They reproduced through genetic resonance—two compatible nervous systems temporarily merging to create life. Because of that, attraction for them was based entirely on emotional compatibility instead of physical sex.
“We do not love bodies first,” Vael explained one evening while watching Earth spin slowly outside the station windows.
“What do you love first, then?” Ren asked.
Vael looked at him quietly.
“Presence.”
Ren suddenly couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore.
Days slowly became weeks.
Ren started spending almost all his free time with Vael.
He taught him small human things: how music sounded through headphones, why people drank coffee even when it tasted bitter, why humans wrapped themselves in blankets during storms, and why lonely people stayed awake late at night.
In return, Vael taught Ren impossible things.
How stars bent space around themselves.
How gravity felt to Asterians like music humans could not hear.
How some planets “sang” through magnetic frequencies.
One night, inside the dark observatory dome, Vael gently pressed his forehead against Ren’s.
Instantly Ren felt the universe.
Not saw it.
Felt it.
Endless stars stretching through black oceans of space.
Dead galaxies collapsing silently.
The terrifying loneliness of drifting between planets for years with nobody waiting for you anywhere.
Ren gasped softly when the connection ended.
“You’ve been alone this whole time…” he whispered.
Vael’s glowing eyes stayed fixed on him.
“Not since meeting you.”
Ren’s chest hurt after hearing that.
Not painfully.
Warmly.
Humans quickly became interested in Vael’s body.
Scientists studied his nervous system because it reacted directly to electromagnetic waves. His blood contained microscopic crystal structures capable of storing memories like living computers.
But the more humanity treated Vael like an experiment, the more he withdrew from everyone—
except Ren.
Vael only relaxed around him.
Only searched for him in crowded rooms.
Only smiled around him.
Even then, his smiles were small and rare, like something fragile.
One evening, Ren fell asleep beside Vael while reading research reports.
When he woke up hours later, he found a blanket carefully wrapped around his shoulders.
Vael sat nearby watching Saturn’s rings quietly.
“You stayed here the whole night?” Ren asked sleepily.
Vael looked away almost immediately.
“You said humans dislike waking up alone.”
Something inside Ren melted.
Eventually, the station directors noticed their closeness.
That became a problem.
Asterian emotions generated unstable neural frequencies dangerous to humans during emotional spikes. The stronger the bond became, the more dangerous physical contact could be.
The government ordered distance between them.
No private interaction.
No physical contact.
No emotional attachment.
Ren tried listening.
He lasted four days.
The disaster happened during a solar storm.
Radiation systems across the station failed, causing life-support collapse inside Vael’s containment sector. Without cosmic radiation, Asterian cells began shutting down rapidly.
Emergency alarms screamed through every hallway.
Nobody entered the chamber because exposure levels were fatal.
Ren ran inside anyway.
He found Vael collapsed beside shattered glass, glowing veins flickering weakly beneath pale skin.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Vael whispered painfully.
Ren dropped to his knees beside him immediately.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Ren—”
“I said I’m not leaving.”
The radiation burned against Ren’s skin, but he still held Vael tightly.
For the first time since arriving on Earth, Vael looked truly afraid.
Not because he was dying.
Because Ren was.
“My species only bonds once,” Vael whispered weakly.
Ren’s heart stuttered.
“And once bonded… we carry that person inside us forever.”
Slowly, Vael pressed their foreheads together again.
This time Ren felt everything.
Every hidden emotion.
Every silent moment Vael spent watching him.
Every heartbeat of love Vael never knew how to explain in human language.
And beneath all of it—
fear of losing him.
Tears burned Ren’s eyes.
“You idiot,” he whispered shakily. “I love you too.”
For the first time, Vael smiled without holding back.
It looked brighter than stars.
A month later, humanity discovered something horrifying.
An ancient machine hidden near Pluto had awakened after detecting Asterian signals. The machine was dragging a neutron star slowly toward Earth’s solar system.
If activated fully, Earth would disappear.
The only way to stop it was through a synchronized neural connection between a human and an Asterian.
A permanent merge.
Possibly fatal.
Ren volunteered before anyone else could speak.
Vael refused immediately.
“No.”
“Vael—”
“I crossed galaxies alone,” he said quietly, voice breaking slightly. “I will not lose you now.”
Ren stepped closer carefully.
“You won’t.”
Vael looked at him like he wanted to believe that.
Inside the ancient machine, their minds connected completely.
Memories mixed together like oceans.
Vael saw Ren crying silently after years of being ignored by people around him.
Ren saw Vael wandering through endless stars searching for intelligent life because he could not bear the silence of the universe anymore.
Every fear.
Every scar.
Every lonely part of themselves became shared.
Then the machine spoke through gravity itself.
“WHY SHOULD HUMANITY SURVIVE?”
Ren had no answer.
Vael did.
He showed the machine one simple memory:
A human running into death just to hold someone he loved.
Silence filled space.
Then the machine shut down.
Months later, life became quiet again.
Far above Saturn, inside a peaceful observatory filled with soft artificial light, Ren rested beside Vael watching stars drift endlessly outside the glass.
Their fingers were intertwined carefully together.
Human warmth against alien skin.
Vael rested his head lightly against Ren’s shoulder.
“My people spent centuries trying to erase emotion,” he murmured softly.
Ren smiled faintly. “Looks like they failed.”
Vael closed his glowing eyes peacefully.
“No,” he whispered.
“They were just waiting for me to find home.”