Thriexa Aizih POV

  The meeting room was grand, yet its imposing presence did little to unnerve me. This was not the first time I had stood before a leader of another world, but it was perhaps the most crucial moment of my existence. The fate of my people hinged on what transpired here.

  The President of the United States stood before me, his posture formal, his gaze sharp. The air in the room was thick with tension, yet beneath it, I sensed curiosity rather than hostility. That was a promising start.

  “Aizih Thriexa,” the President greeted, extending a hand. “Welcome.”

  I took his hand, a diplomatic gesture I had studied before our arrival. “President,” I acknowledged, offering a measured smile. “Thank you for meeting with us. I understand the significance of this moment, and I appreciate your willingness to hear us.”

  He nodded, his expression unreadable. “The significance is not lost on me, Aizih. Your arrival has already changed the world. Now, let’s hear what you have to say.”

  I inhaled slowly, steadying myself. “We have a way to show you why we are here. Words can only explain so much, but memories… they hold the truth of experience.”

  At my signal, Siona stepped forward, standing beside Tophae’s device. The President’s gaze flickered to her, his brows furrowing slightly.

  “And who is this?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “She looks… young.”

  Siona lifted her chin, unbothered by the remark. “I am Luxsor Siona. I have lived on ten planets. Some Eova choose to begin anew with each world, to experience life from its earliest stages. My appearance does not reflect my wisdom.”

  I saw a flicker of understanding pass across the President’s face, followed by a moment of hesitation. Then, with a slow nod, he said, “I see. My apologies, Luxsor Siona. I meant no disrespect.”

  Siona smiled, a hint of amusement in her violet eyes. “None taken.”

  With the misunderstanding settled, I gestured to the device. “With the help of Luxsor Siona and our other memory providers—Vorak Algoks, Vorak Sculki, and myself—we will share with you what has led us to this moment. What you experience will not be secondhand stories. It will be our memories. Our truth.”

  The President exhaled, casting a glance at his advisors before returning his gaze to me. “Very well, Aizih Thriexa. Show me.”

  I nodded to Siona, and she activated the device. “This will not just be for you, President,” I said, my voice steady. “Everyone in this room will experience these memories. You will not simply see them—you will feel them, as if you lived them yourself.”

  The lights in the room dimmed, and a soft pulse of energy radiated from the device. Then, the first memory took hold.

  A rush of warmth, the scent of salt in the air, and the feeling of soft, shifting grains beneath our feet. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming, as if I had been pulled directly into another time, another body. The weight of the sun on my skin, the taste of the sea on my lips—it was real. It was home. The blue sand of Jaret stretched endlessly along the shores of Aizilaha. Vorak Sculki walked along the beach, her bare feet sinking into the cool, powdery surface. Joy swelled in her chest, a rare, unguarded moment of peace. The waves lapped gently, reflecting the golden glow of the setting suns. This was home. This was before.

  Then, the sky darkened. A deep, unnatural rumble trembled through the ground, vibrating up through Sculki’s feet, shaking her to the core. The peace she had felt only moments ago shattered like glass. Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening as dread clawed its way up her throat. She turned her gaze upward, her heart seizing as she saw it—an asteroid, a massive burning beast tearing through the sky, its trajectory fixed on the only home she had ever known. She wanted to move, to run, to do something, but her body refused. In that moment, she was not Vorak Sculki, the diplomat, the leader. She was a child of Aizilaha, watching the world she loved meet its end. Sculki turned, and her breath caught in her throat.

  Darkness swallowed the memory, shifting into the next.

  Vorak Algoks stood atop the smoldering peak of Broz, the great volcano of the Borzork nation, its heat pulsing beneath his feet. The ground trembled, but it was not the volcano that caused it. Far beyond the mountains, across the horizon, the asteroid streaked toward the land of the Aurra.

  A deep, gut-wrenching dread filled him as he watched the skies ignite with fire. The impact came with a deafening roar, a force unlike anything he had ever felt before. A brilliant explosion swallowed the land, sending shockwaves across the surface.

  The lush meadows of the Aurra were reduced to ash in mere moments. The vibrant purple plains, once teeming with life, were torn apart, the land cracking open, flames consuming everything in their path. Entire cities crumbled beneath the devastation, the rivers boiled into steam, and the sky itself darkened with the choking smoke of destruction.

  Agony twisted in Algoks’ chest as he realized the terrible truth—the Aurra were gone. Only two had survived: Thriexa’s grandparents, who had been visiting the Borzork nation at the time.

  The home of the Aurra, the heart of their people, had been erased in an instant.

  The heat of the volcano now felt cold in comparison to the desolation before him.

  Darkness swallowed the memory again, shifting into the next.

  Vorak Algoks stood before the first Aizihs—Thriexa’s grandparents. Their faces were etched with lines of worry, their eyes shadowed with grief. The weight of the remining people of the planet’s survival pressed down upon them, heavier than the stars themselves. The room was quiet, but the silence carried an unbearable tension. “You must take charge of the people,” Algoks urged, his voice a steady anchor amid the storm. “Without leadership, there will be chaos. We must travel together. We must survive together.” The hesitation in their eyes flickered, but only for a moment. Then, in the space of a breath, they stepped forward, their hands pressing against the ancient map of their lost world, sealing their fate. The decision had been made—one that would shape the future of every Eova to come.

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  The weight of responsibility was crushing, but the decision was made. The Aizihs stepped forward, placing their hands upon the ancient map of their world, now a relic of a past life. In that moment, a path was set—one that would shape generations to come.

  Another shift, and now Sculki stood alone, her fingers splayed against the cold glass of the space station’s observation deck. The vast emptiness stretched before her, but all she could see was the ruin of her world. Aizilaha—once vibrant, teeming with life—was nothing more than fractured rock drifting in the abyss. Her reflection stared back at her, hollow-eyed and silent, her grief too vast for words. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms, as if pain could anchor her in the present. There was no going back. No undoing what had been lost. Aizilaha was gone, and with it, a piece of her soul. Below her, Aizilaha was nothing more than scattered fragments of rock, drifting lifelessly through the void. The silence was deafening, the grief all-consuming. Her home was gone. The world that had cradled them, defined them, was nothing but dust. Her chest tightened, her hands clenched at her sides as the reality settled over her like an unshakable weight. The devastation was absolute.

  More memories surged forward, each one hitting like a wave. The electric storms of Xelara, where lightning danced across endless plains. The sprawling caverns of Telyria, where Eova had learned to listen to the earth’s vibrations to navigate. The breathtaking coral cities of Vorthis, where bioluminescent waters had glowed beneath the twin moons. Each world had offered something new, something beautiful, but none had been home. And with each world, the ache of displacement grew stronger, the longing for permanence becoming unbearable.

  The descent onto Earth. The air burned around the transport, a fiery embrace as it tore through the atmosphere. The pressure was suffocating, the ship trembling under the strain, but then—suddenly—calm. The dense greenery below stretched endlessly, the ocean vast and deep, its waves shimmering in the golden light. A new world. A new possibility. The jolt of landing sent a shudder through Thriexa’s bones, but she barely noticed. For the first time in lifetimes, hope swelled in her chest. The first glimpse of the dense greenery, the deep blue of the surrounding ocean. The jolt of landing. Then, footsteps on soft Earth, the sensation of a new gravity settling into Thriexa’s bones.

  Then, the final memory took hold.

  They were surrounded. The voices were sharp, commanding, laced with something unspoken—fear. Hands gripped her arms, firm but not violent, metal restraints snapping into place. There was no malice in their touch, only caution. Thriexa lifted her gaze, meeting the eyes of the human before her. Curiosity warred with uncertainty in his expression. And in that moment, she realized—this time, the unknown was not just for them. This time, both sides were stepping into unfamiliar territory.

  Human voices barking orders. The cold bite of restraints against her wrists. The realization that, once again, they had walked into the unknown and they were not alone.

  The memory faded, leaving the room in stillness.

  I exhaled slowly, grounding myself in the present before turning to the President. “Now you understand.”

  Silence hung heavy in the meeting room as the final memory faded. The weight of our history, our suffering, and our journey lingered in the air. The President and his advisors sat motionless, their expressions ranging from disbelief to quiet contemplation. They had seen the destruction of Aizilaha, felt the devastation through Vorak Sculki’s eyes, experienced the burden of leadership through Vorak Algoks, and understood the desperation that led us to Earth.

  Finally, the President exhaled, rubbing his temples before straightening in his chair. “I won’t pretend to fully comprehend what I just experienced,” he admitted, his voice steady but laced with something deeper—something close to awe. “But I understand one thing: your people have suffered, and you seek refuge here. That much is clear.”

  I inclined my head, keeping my expression calm but resolute. “We do not come as conquerors, nor do we wish to disrupt your world. We seek a place where we can live in peace, contribute, and coexist. Our people have no home left to return to, and we are tired of running.”

  The President exchanged glances with his advisors before focusing back on me. “What is it you’re asking for?”

  “Recognition,” I answered without hesitation. “We ask for sovereignty over the land we now inhabit—our settlement on Saliscana Island. We ask for the safety of our people, protection from those who may seek to exploit or harm us. And in return, we offer our knowledge.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Knowledge?”

  I nodded. “Medicine. Technology. Our advancements have spanned lifetimes and multiple worlds. We have the ability to heal illnesses you have yet to cure. We can improve upon your energy sources, your infrastructure, your scientific pursuits. We offer these freely, but with one condition.”

  The room tensed. “And what is that?” the President asked carefully.

  “That these advancements are shared across the world,” I said firmly. “We will not give one nation power over another. If we are to exist on this planet, we will not become tools for war, nor will we allow Earth’s balance of power to be thrown into chaos because of our presence.”

  The President leaned back in his chair, studying me intently. He is weighing every possibility, considering not just my words but the deeper implications. His thoughts were a storm of calculations—benefits, risks, the political maneuvering that would follow. I could sense his hesitance, his concern over how other nations would react, but beneath it, there was something else. Hope. He saw what I saw—a future where cooperation could lead to something greater.

  “That is… an unprecedented request.”

  “And so is this moment,” I countered. “This is bigger than just your country, Mr. President. The world will know about us soon enough, and when they do, there will be fear. We seek to ease that fear, to prove that we are here in peace—not as a weapon to be claimed by one nation.”

  One of his advisors, an older man with sharp eyes, leaned forward. “And if we refuse? What stops another country from finding you and taking what you offer?”

  Xilta, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke. “We are not defenseless. Do not mistake our plea for peace as weakness. We have survived for generations, adapting to countless worlds. We do not wish for conflict, but we will not allow ourselves to be exploited.”

  The room fell into another silence. The President steepled his fingers, deep in thought. Finally, he exhaled. “I need time to discuss this with my council. This decision is not mine alone. But I will say this—your offer is generous, and your conditions are reasonable. I cannot guarantee a decision today, but you have my word that I will deliberate with fairness.”

  I inclined my head in respect. “That is all we ask.”

  The meeting had not ended with a definitive answer, but I could sense it—the shift. The recognition of who we were, what we had to offer, and the possibility of coexistence.

  It was a start.

  My mother, Xilta, and the other Eova will be traveling back to Saliscana Island while I, along with Tocci and Trenal, remain in Washington, D.C., to continue discussions with the President. Jace and Henry will also stay, as this is their home, and their knowledge of human diplomacy and security will be invaluable.

  Before we adjourned, the President turned to Jace with a measured expression. “Agent Strickland, I have another request for you.”

  Jace straightened slightly, his brows furrowing. “Sir?”

  “If we move forward with this arrangement, Thriexa will become one of the most recognized figures in the world,” the President said, his tone serious. “That also makes her a target. There will be those who fear her, who see the Eova as a threat. I need someone that she trusts and someone that I trust to head her security detail. Someone who understands both our world and theirs.”

  I turned to Jace, sensing his thoughts before he even answered. He didn’t hesitate for long. “I’ll do it.”

  His response was firm, resolute. I felt something settle inside me—relief, perhaps, or gratitude. The world would soon know who I was, and the threats would come. But I wouldn’t face them alone.