The Star Inside

"What is the most powerful thing in the universe? What dwarfs the splicing of atoms, the gasses of the stars? Could it be..... love?"

Prospector Éeyhew o-Ankank was an accountant for the Ékyow Corporation, a diligent and hardworking Ixkutan, whose avian mind was filled with curiosity and wonder. The galaxy had intrigued him ever since he was a hatchling, so much so that his parents hoped he would have taken a career in deep space exploration, or perhaps in the political world of their most tranquil theocracy. But interests come, and interests go, leading him down a different path, one that he was good at and had filled his heart with much joy. Still, he often thought about seeing the stars outside of Ixkutan space, so when he was approached with a business trip to the Earthborn colony of Centuria, he jumped at the opportunity. Éeyhew quickly packed his stuff and left for the company ship soon after informing his wife, saying goodbye to her as he had always done when leaving for work. The only difference that there was in his morning ritual was how he was barely able to hold his excitement, his tail swinging wildly as he packed all the essentials.

During the two-day-long journey, he could think of nothing but the sights he would bear witness to, of the wonders built by the hands of human colonists who toiled under binary suns, architects of a dream turned into reality. Éeyhew’s datapad bathed him in artificial light for hours on end, the small, delicate screen filled with the downloaded website of museums and tourist guides, with the Centurian Colonial Museum being his go-to page to check before finally going to bed.

Yet on the first day he tread upon the soil of the ancient colony, his mind was captivated not by museum displays or the words of curators, but by a scene most unfamiliar to his species. During dinner, Éeyhew dined with his coworker at a reputable restaurant located in the heart of Centuria’s capital, with seats right beside a large window overlooking the district known as the “Old Town”. There, on the cobblestone streets, his eyes caught the presence of two young humans, a male and a female, standing closely in front of each other. With their hands holding another’s, they stared into each other’s starry eyes, gazes filled with what could only be described as religious intoxication. The two seemed to be saying goodbyes, yet so deep was their adoration for one another, that every time one of them distanced themselves by just a few inches, the other would pull them back in, continuing a cycle of innocent obsession. Éeyhew watched them with curiosity, observing the couple’s lack of care for personal space, while cheeks burned redder than the famous dunes of mighty Mars. He watched from afar, until the man whispered something sweet, a promise perhaps, and the two parted, only looking back once the realisation of their broken connection hit their minds.

Then Éeyhew began to think. He had taken part in cultural sensitivity trainings before; he knew how the Ixkutan creed might have made them appear a bit “cold” to the Earthborn, how their stoic and frugal ways of achieving planetary harmonies are alien to the more materialistic and individual-oriented humans. But the affection, the love he had witnessed firsthand, dwarfed his own feelings towards his own partner, that gentle avian he had left so hurriedly alone. It made him feel strange, left him dazed and confused, as he blinked blankly at the spot where the two lovers once stood. He became more self-conscious from then on, his gaze falling on a dozen other similar moments as he and his coworkers made their way back to their suites. Kisses, locked hands, hugs, smiles and laughter. Most of these existed in some shape or form in his species’ cultures, but they did not seem to carry the same weight human love had, acting more as signs of respect or rituals of the simplest kind.

The whole thing stuck with him throughout the following days, always resurging once he found some time to himself, popping up just as the memory began to sink into the deepest corners of his mind. He never gave it any serious thought, not until the third day of his visit, when he finally had the chance to step inside the pristine halls of the Centurian Colonial Museum with a man named Jacob Pierce, who had been the guide of his group ever since the Ixkutans had arrived. Now, Jacob was a simple man, someone who was content with where he was in the world, for he loved his work and was always eager to share his knowledge about Centuria’s thousand-year-old history with anyone who showed even a slight interest in the topic. Of course, Éeyhew was one such being. He was enthralled by the man’s tales about the past, filled with fun little facts and deeper explanations behind certain sights inside the CCM. The curious alien listened closely and in silence, either nodding along with Jacob’s words or gasping in wonder at the stories of the early settlers. Suffice to say, the two quickly became friends over the trip.

Everything was quiet during the first few hours, until Éeyhew read a display about the name of Centuria’s capital, Esther’s Bay. He couldn’t grasp the meaning behind it before, thinking that its true origins were to be found in one of Earth’s myriad ancient languages, a secret only those with deep roots to mankind’s true homeworld could even hope to understand. The display read:

“[…] The city’s name was given by the Chief Commanding Officer of the Alpha Centauri Colonization Corps, Jackson B. Lloyd Sr., who christened the land after his loving wife and fellow colonial figurehead, Miss Esther Lloyd. […]” It was a love letter. A simple, two-word long love letter.

Éeyhew stood there for a while, frozen as the image of that first young couple flashed before his eyes. Is this truly how far human love can go? To venture into a frontier still untamed, to clash with nature and beasts still unknown, to place yourself at the edges of death and still, among all this suffering, to be able to see light in the form of your loved one? The thought was an anathema to his creed, as the Ixkutans always placed the group before the individual. They saw communities first and foremost, and while they did value personal connections and achievements, everyone and everything worked towards a shared goal, similarly to how organs make up a being, and strive for its wellbeing.

Half an hour had passed after that, thirty minutes which he spent contemplating, his thoughts swirling behind his skull like a whirlpool. It was after that quiet, sombre time that he had found himself sitting on a bench beside Jacob, who had decided to take a short rest near the toilets. Something surged inside Éeyhew, and before he could dwell upon it further, his Universal Translator flared to life. He had told his guide of the small factoid he had read about the city’s name, then about the small glimpses of human romance alongside his own observations: there exists an immeasurable amount of species, most of which are driven by emotions… but is there one which can love the same way humans do?

Jacob began to think once the question was asked, yet it was when Éeyhew gave a few interesting examples that he began to talk as well. Together, they formed a shared pool of knowledge, a treasure trove of facts and reasonable assumptions, which only delved into the topic deeper and deeper.

There was mention of many prominent species, such as the free clans of the Parrkatas, whose matriarchs loved their offspring with all their hearts but switched between seasonal mates like there was no tomorrow. They spoke of the Łaghnians, who once again never chose a partner for life, and the cruel Pobelin slavers with their pseudo-mitosis way of breeding (of which I’d rather not get into the details), where the younger form is only seen as a high-ranking servant. There were also the mysterious Wise Ones, whose minds perceived the universe in ways incomparable to those of other species, and the [UNICODE ERROR], who had made sure that they would never seek companionship on a genetic level, opting to wait out the death of the galaxy in solitude. Hell, even the Alaivanians - for whom fate had chosen minds far more empathetic than those of humans but who held a very similar view on relationships - only spent a few seconds with copulation, which was devoid of any love and adoration.

But why? How could the peoples of the Orion Spur enjoy such pleasures? How come they were allowed to feel love to its fullest, while others always had something to blame for their rejection of the sweetest fruits of life? For example, the famous frugality of the Ixkutans did not come from their belief in idle transcendence. No, it was quite the opposite. Their goal of avoiding desire was built into their genome over the last millions of years, a biological side effect shaped through trial and error, by the environment of their world and forces they themselves barely understood. This is how it always had been, and how it always will be, until the stars go cold and there would be nothing left but barren worlds and the empty void.

Jacob didn’t know either. The people of a distant century blamed it on chemicals, on instinct and a primordial need for companionship in the untamed wildernesses of a once savage Earth. But the people of today knew better, he said. Love does not start and end with finding a lifelong partner after all, in fact, it extends to all aspects of human life, and even beyond its confines. It is expressed even when there was no reward to be found, like how one time, a group of monks belonging to the Catholic branch of Earth’s Christian religion once crossed star blockades to reach the war-struck world of Tauberg IV. They then descended upon its ruined cities, tending to the sick, the poor and the wounded, only to leave the world once there was no more love to give. They departed without a word, taking nothing in return.

Of course, the concept of charity wasn’t new to his feathery friend, but rare were the examples when Ixkutans put their lives at risk for others. What isn’t rare, however, are the many other forms human love could appear in. There was, of course, the one others felt towards their partners, the one they held towards their family and the one which the most virtuous had for those in need. But there is also love based on loyalty and trust, love based on pure desires, the love of one’s self, and even playful, light-hearted love, like when Jacob explained he once had what he called a “crush” on a teacher, back when he was just a child. The whole thing never went further than mere thoughts and daydreams, dissipating into a distant, innocent memory as he grew older. Even hatred originates from one’s love for his ideals, his loyalties, his connections.

Éeyhew scratched the top of his head with one of his frontal claws. Such feelings were present in other species as well, yet somehow, in one way or another, something was always absent. The extraterrestrial spirit seemed to have had a piece of it missing, like the denizens of billions of stars were left unfinished on some cosmic craftsman’s table, their mold faulty and imperfect. Everything pointed to some intelligent design, yet if trillions of intelligent minds couldn’t come up with a proper explanation over the millennia, how could a simple, honest businessbird even hope to find out the truth? Or worst of all, how can he now live his life, knowing that he is living in the shadow of a great psychic well, the waters of which he will probably never taste? Jacob had no answer either. He was silent, deep in his thoughts as he considered his reply. He held no contempt for aliens, didn’t wish to insult him, nor influence him, yet in the end, after a minute or so of awkward silence, he said his piece: if Éeyhew can truly feel – not just know – the difference between his love and that of man’s, then perhaps, despite the odds, he could bring much needed change? The task wouldn’t be changing the galaxy, heaven forbid, but something small, something that can be done in a single lifetime.

There wasn’t much time to think after that. The museum’s intercom announced the building’s closure for the day, and the pair quickly made their way back to their suites. They shared a firm handshake that night, both of them thanking the other for the pleasant conversation, before going to sleep.

Éeyhew met Jacob several times throughout the trip, but never found time again for further discussions. He was forced to keep his feelings to himself, contemplating the most while lying in bed - an act that made him lose quite a large amount of rest. Even when he drifted into sleep, he dreamed uncertain dreams, ones he could never remember yet that seemed too real to have been his imagination and too fake to maintain their illusions.

Eventually, the Corporation’s dealings came to an end, alongside his visit to the pearl in the void that was Centuria. He said one final thank you to Jacob before leaving for orbit, where he glanced at Esther’s shroud of light, which stretched through humble hills for many miles before meeting the gentle waves of her bay. In that moment, Éeyhew’s gaze held something more than wonder. It was understanding, although of what exactly, not even I can say. His mind was still that of an Ixkutan after all.

The journey back was uneventful, despite Éeyhew’s sudden, often unprompted acts of affection he made towards his colleagues, which surprised many of his peers. Even when he finally returned home, he seemed to have entered a state of ecstasy, one that piqued the curiosity of those around him, but which was tame enough not to make him a target of ridicule. Then, he returned home, finding his partner busy with the chores, who greeted him in the usual, polite way, like he hadn’t just crossed light-years on the trip of a lifetime. Éeyhew said no word back. He simply approached her and with some hesitation, gently pressed his beak against her cheek, while murmuring a simple confession of love. He swore that in that moment, he could see her blushing under her feathers, embarrassed and charmed at the same time, as her husband looked deep into her eyes, happy that he had brightened the star inside her.

Child of Night Part 2

 It was about time I finished this short story. I hope whoever reads it has a great time!

 

 

Never before have I been so grateful to hear the distant rumble of thunder. Its echoes wash over me, caressing every inch of my skin, thus sharpening my senses. The rain conceals not only my scent but also the sound of my movements, while an endless cloak of black clouds hides the setting sun. Yet no matter how far fate’s helping hand stretches, caution remains my greatest ally. There could be other, crueler hunters lurking amid the sea of tall grass - bloodthirsty things which crave the taste of human flesh. So I creep into the unknown, spear in hand, eyes ever vigilant, for today my prey is the most ruthless of all, the most merciless and efficient killer ever created. Today I am hunting my fellow man.

I press my body against the muddy ground and take a moment to feel the power of distant lightning strikes. The earth vibrates each time the heavens strike the world, from which, I aim to absorb their speed and strength. I must become like lightning if I want myself to have a fighting chance. My foes are taller, far stronger than I, with wide shoulders, thick arms, and scars from past battles. Yet no matter the odds, I press forward. After all, what do I have to lose? I have no home, only the open plains, no father, mother, sibling or child to share my struggle against the cold winds with or to protect from the fangs of beasts. If I could save that woman, that maiden dressed in white, I could have a family, maybe start a new tribe where my bloodline could live on. Doubt lingers in my mind, yet I push on.

Finding their camp wasn’t difficult. Though the rain washed away their tracks, man—whether clad in amber or animal hides—tends to leave evidence of his presence. Crumbs of food, cut vegetation, and even excrement were enough for me to track them to their hideout, where I expected to find more of their kind. To my surprise, they live alone, in conditions only slightly better than mine.

Four small wooden huts, half-sunken into the ground, dot the hillside, their mossy roofs barely visible. A campfire burns inside each strange dwelling, its smoke escaping through small holes in the tops. Strangely, no defenses—no ditches or palisades—protect the camp from outside threats, leaving the entire camp out for the taking. Only the vigor of the inhabitants offers any chance against utter destruction, but as I gaze at their tired, expressionless faces, I wonder if these warriors even have the will to live.

Hidden by darkness, I observe the scene, my body frozen like a rock. The girl is still alive, though drenched in cold rainwater. She lacks the strength to resist, and I watch as they tie her limp body to a tall boulder atop the hill. But it is no ordinary stone. No, it is an idol, a terrifying monument adorned with carvings of men falling into flames or chased by thin, tailed figures with arrowhead skulls. I stare at it, searching for meaning in the strange altar, while a voice in my mind urges me to hide from its unending gaze. Then another thought emerges—foreign, alien, yet strangely alluring. It tells me to show respect to the idol, that I am safe in its presence, and to forsake the heavens as they have forsaken my kin. With a racing heart, I press my face against the ground, desperate to break free from the accursed stone’s influence. The thoughts fade, but I fear they will return to haunt me.

I’m unsure how long I’ve stared at the mud, but after what feels like hours, curiosity overcomes me. The amber-clad men no longer roam their camp, leaving only their “living trophy,” who seems to have fallen asleep. Still prone, I move toward the nearest hut, my eyes darting left and right to brace for any unwanted surprises. Despite my caution, the coast remains clear, much to my concern. Like the sun scorching the earth before a storm, my mind warns me that this peace and quiet has a reason—one I dread learning the hard way.

Still, I crawl up the hill, pausing every few feet to ensure I haven’t been spotted. After spending minutes creeping up to the camp, I reach the first shack, and I can practically feel the heat just from watching the shadows dancing on the walls. Then I see him. A man lies beside the roaring flames, naked except for a thin brown blanket he clutches like a child. Had I not witnessed their true nature hours earlier, I might have mistaken him for another denizen of the steppes, a victim of the elements. Watching his chest rise and fall while listening to his deafening snores, I’m reminded of myself, of all the nights I spent huddled beside dim flames. But I know who they are: killers, raiders, warriors of evil.

Seizing what may be my only chance to take one of them down, I swiftly move toward him, knife in hand. The sinister voice of the idol returns to the back of my mind, but this time, it speaks to me in a tongue I cannot understand, and disperses as soon as I deliver the killing blow. I hold the stranger’s mouth shut as he jolts awake from the flint blade burrowed his throat, as he tries to push me off in a desperate attempt to save his wicked life. Like the prey I caught on the plains, he chokes on his own blood before my eyes, unable to save himself no matter how fiercely he tries. Moments later, his body goes limp, and I realize I have just committed murder for the first time.

Strange. So different is man from beast that the mere thought of killing one could sicken the stomach. I cannot tell whether it’s my knowledge of his past actions or a deep, feral craving for violence that leaves me feeling nothing. There is blood on my hands, the blood of a man whose name I never knew, whose fate I care little for. Perhaps in that better age my grandfather spoke of, I would have felt sorrow, hatred, or even disgust. I might have felt all the emotions my kind has been burdened with, and perhaps more. But this is no better age. This is a trial by fire.

As I sneak toward the second hut, I notice the cold rain has begun to ease. The noise of my movements grows louder, freezing me in my tracks. So blind had I become from my successful kill that I neglected to check my surroundings. Yet as I glance left and right, the outpost remains as somber as ever. Still, the thought of lowering my guard unsettles me. After all, it was such carelessness that allowed a blade-headed beast to surprise my kin, who then stained the soil red with their insides.

The second warrior sleeps soundly as well, unaware of his impending fate. Yet on my way to finish him off, something tells me that my movement lacks in confidence. It’s as if my body doubts me, my limbs whispering that my success cannot be repeated. Still, I ignore it, as I did with the voice of the stone.

Or at least, that was my hope. Entering the hut, I find a man thrashing under his blanket, unable to sleep. He slowly opens his weary eyes, and I, with only a few heartbeats to spare, spring forward. Bringing my flint knife down from above, I inflict a gruesome wound on his shoulder. He screams in pain and tries to push me away, but in his tired, agonized state, he struggles to throw me off, locking us in a desperate wrestling match. Despite my initial advantage, my prey still has his weight to rely on. Each of his punches lands with the force of a stone flung from a sling, and each time he grabs me, I fear he might tear me apart. Only my pitiful slashes deter him from doing so, for despite his hulking frame, he is still a mortal.

After a minute of grappling in the campfire’s warmth, he weakens, bleeding from the dozen small wounds I’ve inflicted on his body. My prey raises his arms to shield himself, seeking a moment’s rest as I tire. Then, as I drive my knife toward his throat, he swings his elbow into my face. I fall beside him, stunned and blinded by the blow, while the smell of warm blood hits my nostrils.

Before I can even grunt, the man’s hands seize my neck, squeezing the breath from my lungs. His fingers dig deep, coiling around my throat like a snake.

My life flashes before my eyes as I scramble for my missing knife. Faces and memories, both sweet and sorrowful, flood my mind as I begin to lose consciousness. Everything darkens, my head throbs with pain, and I can do nothing but hope for salvation. Then, as my fingers grow cold, I feel the handle of my knife in my palm.

So focused was my foe on choking the life from me that he failed to see my attack. I strike him from below, driving my knife through his jaw and into the roof of his mouth. It takes a moment for the pain to register, along with the realization that I, a young hunter, have bested him.

I have no time to celebrate my kill, however. As soon his blood drops onto my body, I crawl to safety and grab my spear. Surely, the last warrior heard his comrade’s cries over the now-gentle rain and waits for the chance to smear my guts over his stone god.

Outside, my eyes meet hers. Gray pearls gaze into my soul, searching for answers about her fate. Her face bears a tired, hopeless look—the look of someone who has abandoned the will to live, existing only for the moment death claims her. I rush to her, still panting from my fight, and see her try to shuffle away with what little strength remains within her. She must think I’m one of her captors, come to offer her blood to the rock. As I cut the rope binding her, a spark of hope lights her eyes. She tries to stand after I free her, but her legs buckle under the weight of her capture. I catch her before she hits the ground. Our bodies press together for a moment, skin touching skin as we share warmth. She is cold to the touch, shivering beneath her soaked robe. Yet I see a faint smile on her face, followed by a strange word I can only assume means “thank you” in her tongue. I nod at her in silence, still mesmerized by her eyes.

So locked were our eyes on each other that I failed to check my surroundings. Out of nowhere, the third warrior wraps his left arm around my neck before kicking the girl into the mud. I feel his amber-clad torso pressing against my frame and catch a glimpse of his axe rising, poised to split my skull. Like the cornered wolf I am, I bite his exposed forearm with such force that it draws blood. My final foe, though tall and strong, recoils from the pain and hurls me aside, cursing me in his own tongue. In the distance, thunder roars across the plains.

We stare at each other with mutual hatred, eyes burning with the feral urge to take life, to extinguish the flame of another being. To him, I am but a mere pup, a youngster who dared to step out of line. But for me, he is my true rite of passage.

He stands there, wearing nothing but leather pants and an amber torso piece, likely sizing up how long I can last in a fight. I do the same. One strike from his axe could end my life, while my flint-headed spear must hit his most vulnerable point. Perhaps crippling a leg joint will even the odds, or severing a tendon or two. Or, if the heavens truly favor me, I could slash a major artery. All I need now is one lucky strike.

He shouts and lunges toward me, but I roll to his side just in time. Instinctively, I stab at his chest, but to no avail. My spearhead glances off his amber-clad torso with a faint clank, leaving us achieving nothing, other than trading places. We repeat this twice more—him swinging, me dodging and stabbing, only for my weapon to rebound off him. I feel the tip of my spear loosening, its integrity failing as it clashes against the superior material.

My limbs tremble. I’ve been on the move for so long with so little in my belly that my body begins to falter, my racing heart gripped by fear of death. The warrior before me senses this. He grins at my suffering, relishing in my weakening resolve. A chuckle escapes his lips as he points his axe at the stone, then slowly draws it across his throat in a slicing gesture.

In desperation, I hurl my spear toward him. Aiming as if I were hunting on the plains, it strikes his uncovered shoulder. He freezes from the blow, and I, drunk with the smallest glimpse of victory, rush in, dagger in hand.

But overconfidence fells many aspiring hunters. With the butt of his axe, my foe strikes my head as one might swat a fly. I collapse onto the wet soil with a loud splash, my face caked in mud, my head ringing from the blow. I struggle to rise, but my persistence earns only a kick to my ribs as my ears are filled with the warrior’s bellowing laughter. I lie there before the idol, spirit broken and limbs weary, awaiting a swift death. Yet it does not come. No, my foe seems to be enjoying my pitiful state and spits on me. Then comes another kick, followed by a third and a fourth one each more brutal than the last before, bruising my small frame. A wave of insults washes over me, unintelligible but granting me a moment to rest and seek a way out—if there one. Then I realize my dagger remains in my hand, concealed by mud and grass.

He lifts me by my hair, intent on dragging me to the rock as an offering, his mouth spitting curses in a tongue so brutish it fuels my hatred for my enemies. It was this rage which gives me the strength needed for my plan. In the middle of his speech, I drive my blade deep into his calf, striking bone and the blood vessel I was hoping to open. The warrior drops me and screams in pain, granting me enough time to crawl to safety. I glance back to see how far I have gotten, only to see my foe limping toward me, axe raised high.

With no weapons left and no one by my side, I close my eyes, ready to meet my end. Then I hear the soil shift. Curiosity prompts me to open my eyes, and I watch the idol topple toward me—and, more crucially, toward my foe. He turns and screams, but a moment later, he is crushed under the immense weight of the rock. At that instant, the rain ceases.

Before my heart can calm, I search for the girl with my eyes and, to my surprise, find her slumped against the idol’s base, panting from exhaustion. It is now that I realize she must have toppled the stone to save me, whether through her last reserves of strength or with aid from above. In the end, we saved each other; two souls bound by a shared struggle, freed from the claws of the evil rooted in this corner of the world. She collapses to the ground, laughing, releasing nervous energy. It is an involuntary response, done to relief tension. I know, for I’ve done the same many times before. I laugh as well. I laugh for I know I lived to tell this tale.