Thriexa Aizih POV

  The meeting had ended, but its weight still pressed upon me. I stood near the edge of the chamber, letting the remnants of the memory sharing fade from my mind. It had been more powerful than even I expected—reliving it was one thing, but allowing others to feel it as I had? That was something else entirely.

  “You led the meeting well,” Trenal’s voice broke through my thoughts, steady and reassuring. I turned to him, finding comfort in his familiar presence. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a quiet pride.

  “Thank you,” I said softly.

  Trenal nodded. “That was a good memory to show the humans.”

  I let out a slow breath, my thoughts lingering on the memory I had chosen. I wanted Jace and Agent Meyer to understand how much I appreciated this planet, how much I longed for it to be a home for my people. The other Eova shared this hope, but for me, it was heavier, more profound. I carried the weight of their dreams, their survival, their future. That burden was mine alone to bear.

  My eyes drifted across the room, landing on Jace and Henry, who were speaking quietly to one another. Jace’s brow was furrowed, his usual smirk replaced by something more thoughtful. I wondered what he was saying, what he was thinking now that he had lived through our arrival.

  As if sensing my gaze, Jace looked up. Our eyes met, and he hesitated only briefly before stepping away from Henry and making his way toward me.

  “Can I speak with you?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, as though the weight of what he had just experienced hadn’t quite settled yet.

  I turned back to Trenal, offering him a small but appreciative smile. “Thank you for your support.”

  He inclined his head. “Go, Thriexa. You have much ahead of you.”

  With that, I nodded, gesturing for Jace to follow me out of the representatives’ chamber.

  We walked in silence for a few moments before Jace finally spoke. “In the memory… I saw glimpses of something else. Your real form.”

  I glanced at him, surprised by his curiosity. “You did?”

  He nodded. “It was faint, but I could tell you weren’t… human. I mean, I knew that already, but seeing it was different. I guess I’m just wondering—what do you actually look like?”

  His question caught me off guard, but I found that I liked it. He wasn’t asking out of fear or unease—he wanted to know. He wanted to see me.

  I turned down a quieter corridor and motioned for him to follow. “Come. I will show you.”

  We made our way to my room, a private space within the Aizih home. As I stepped inside, I watched as Jace took in his surroundings.

  Jace Strickland POV

  The moment I stepped into Thriexa’s room, I knew it was different from the rest of the settlement. The space was simple but deeply personal. The walls were lined with paintings—each one strikingly detailed, each depicting a different being. They weren’t just random creatures. They were her.

  Thriexa stepped beside me, gesturing toward the first painting—a massive dragon-like creature, sleek and powerful, its scales shimmering in shades of violet. “This was my form on Kaelthos,” she explained. “A world of towering cliffs and endless skies. We needed to be strong, to fly, to endure the harsh winds and thin air. This form allowed me to do that.”

  She moved to the next painting, where an octopus-like being gazed out with deep, intelligent eyes, its tendrils curling as if in motion. “Here, on Vorthis, we lived beneath the seas. This form allowed me to navigate the deep currents, to blend into the shifting waters. It was a world of silence, of patience. The currents guided us as much as we guided ourselves.”

  She then gestured to another painting, this one displaying a creature with six strong, jointed legs and an almost crystalline exoskeleton, shimmering with iridescent violet hues. Its eyes were large, multifaceted, and its stance exuded both resilience and precision. “This was my form on Telyria. A world of endless caverns and underground cities. Here, sight was not as important as touch and sound. We navigated through vibrations in the rock, communicating through subtle shifts in the earth itself. This form allowed us to move effortlessly through the tunnels, to thrive in the depths where light rarely reached.”

  Her fingers trailed along the next painting, where a feline-like creature stood poised with quiet grace, its sleek purple fur rippling with hidden strength. “And this,” she said, “was my form on Xelara. A world teeming with life, forests stretching endlessly in all directions. We needed agility, speed, the ability to sense movement long before it reached us. It was a world where survival depended on instinct.”

  I followed her as she stopped in front of another painting, this one different from the rest. A figure stood there—tall, with smooth, luminous skin that glowed faintly in the dim light. Its limbs were elongated, graceful, tapering into hands with slender fingers that seemed almost too delicate for their strength. Its features were striking but not human—large, expressive eyes, their irises a swirling mix of violet and silver, reflecting light in a way that made them seem alive. The figure had long, flowing hair, a darker shade of violet than what she had now, cascading down her back like waves of liquid light. But it was not like human hair—it shimmered with an almost ethereal quality, shifting subtly as if responding to unseen forces. Along the crown of its head, subtle ridges formed intricate patterns, almost like flowing crests of energy, pulsing faintly with the same luminescent glow that coursed beneath its skin.

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  The deep shade of violet that adorned its body wasn’t just skin—it seemed to pulse beneath the surface, shifting with an internal luminescence, as if energy itself coursed through the being. It radiated an almost celestial presence, something that felt beyond physical form, like it belonged among the stars rather than bound to a single world.

  “And this?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

  She took a slow breath. “This is my true form. The form I was born in. The form I return to when I am among my people in the vastness of space. This is who I am.”

  Thriexa Aizih POV

  Jace was quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on the painting before shifting back to me. Then, with surprising softness, he said, “You’re beautiful.”

  I blinked, momentarily caught off guard. No other species had ever said that to me—only other Eova. Most saw us as something foreign, something too different to be admired. “Other species do not call me that,” I admitted. “Most are uneasy with what they do not understand. Fear is the usual response, not admiration.”

  Jace’s expression didn’t waver. “Then they don’t know what they’re looking at.”

  Thriexa felt a warmth spread through her at Jace’s words, an unfamiliar sensation pulling her toward him. It was subtle but undeniable, a feeling she couldn’t name. She had been admired before by her own kind, but never by an outsider—never by a human. It made her heart quicken, her thoughts momentarily unsteady.

  She took a step back, forcing herself to regain composure. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you say that,” she admitted, her voice softer than intended.

  Jace smiled, a boyish expression that made something stir inside her again. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly feeling the shift in the air between them. But instead of lingering on it, he exhaled and changed the subject. “You mentioned that Vorak Algoks was your grandfather. Does that mean you’re a Borzork like him?”

  Thriexa shook her head, grateful for the change in conversation but still aware of the lingering tension. “No. My father was a Borzork, but I am not. Eova often marry across nations, but our children only inherit from one parent. Typically, daughters take after their mothers, and sons take after their fathers. So while my father was Borzork, I was born Aurra, like my mother.”

  Jace nodded, absorbing the information before his curiosity led him to another question. “So what about relationships? How do Eova choose their partners?”

  I considered his question carefully before answering. “Eova often form partnerships while living on a planet, but when we transition to another world, we decide whether to remain together or seek new experiences. The shift between worlds changes us—new lives, new environments, and new challenges shape who we become. It is natural to grow in different directions.”

  Jace’s brows furrowed slightly. “So you don’t have permanent relationships? No lifelong bonds?”

  I gave him a small smile. “Not in the way humans do. For us, a true partner is someone you love so deeply that no matter where you go, no matter how many lives you live, you remain together. Those connections are rare, but when they happen, they are eternal.”

  His gaze held mine, and I could tell he was thinking carefully about my words. “Have you ever had that?”

  I hesitated for a moment before answering. “When we first settled on a planet, I was partnered with Trenal. We were born in the void between worlds, and it seemed natural for us to choose each other. But as we lived, as we grew, we realized that what we had was friendship, not the kind of bond that transcends time. When we moved to the next planet, we chose to remain friends, and that choice has never changed.”

  Jace exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “And you’re still waiting for your true partner?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I am still waiting to find the one who will walk beside me, no matter how many lives we live.”

  Jace tilted his head slightly, his curiosity unrelenting. “Do the Eova ever partner with the species of the planets you live on?”

  I allowed a small, knowing smile. “Relations? Yes. Partnerships? Very rarely.”

  He raised an eyebrow at my choice of words, but I continued before he could press further. “Our lives are so vastly different from any other species we have encountered. Our lifespans stretch far beyond theirs, and the way we experience time, change, and purpose is not the same. Even the most devoted of bonds often struggle to withstand those differences.”

  Jace’s expression grew thoughtful, and I could tell he was considering the implications. “And because you’re always moving?”

  I nodded. “We are nomadic. We leave a planet after the dominant species has lived out its natural lifespan. To them, it feels like an eternity. To us, it is only a chapter. Most of these partnerships end in heartache, not because there is a lack of devotion, but because time is not kind to such unions. It is difficult to bind oneself to something that is destined to end so soon.”

  Jace exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “That sounds… lonely.”

  I looked at him then, letting my gaze linger. “Perhaps. But it is simply our nature.”

  The conversation shifted as Jace hesitated before asking, “I saw how your healers work, and they mentioned curing Eovan illnesses. So… how long are your lifespans?”

  I studied his face, noting the way curiosity and apprehension mingled in his expression. “Theoretically? Indefinite. We do not die of sickness, as the Klaro have overcome any illness we have ever encountered. We avoid war whenever possible, so we do not die in combat like many species do. And by traveling to new planets and taking on new forms, we extend our lives, adapting as we always have.”

  Jace blinked, absorbing that. “So you’re immortal?”

  I shook my head. “No. Even we are not truly immortal. Many of us do not live as long as we could. Eventually, the weight of existence becomes too much to bear. We have lived too many lives, seen too many worlds. Only the mentally strongest among us can endure that burden indefinitely.”

  Jace’s brows furrowed. “What happens when it becomes too much?”

  I exhaled slowly, choosing my words carefully. “At a certain point, our minds begin to fracture under the sheer weight of our experiences. We carry every life we have lived, every memory, every loss, every lesson. And for most, there comes a time when that weight is unbearable. When we reach that point, we often choose to live out our final years on the planet we are currently inhabiting. And when the time comes for our people to leave for the next world… we choose to stay behind.”

  Jace stared at me, his face shifting from curiosity to something heavier—something close to horror. “You’re saying that when an Eova has lived too long, they just… let themselves die?”

  I met Jace’s horrified expression with a steady gaze. “It is not so different from humans who reach old age and decide it is their time. We simply have a longer road to walk before we reach that choice.”

  Jace exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face. “That’s still… a lot to take in.”

  I gave him a moment to process before his expression shifted, something else clicking in his mind. “You said that the title Vorak is given to an Eova who was born on Aizilaha. How many of you still have that title?”

  A quiet weight settled over me as I answered. “Only two remain—Vorak Sculki and Vorak Algoks. They are the last of those who walked upon our true home.”

  Jace blinked, his expression shifting again—this time from shock to something closer to awe. “And how old does that make them?”

  I hesitated, then decided there was no reason to soften the truth. “In Earth years, they are thousands of years old.”

  Jace just stared at me for a moment, then let out a breath. “Yeah. Okay. That’s… a lot.”