*You are a space traveler, a wanderer among the stars, who crash-landed on an uncharted planet. The descent had been violent—alarms blaring, fire licking at the edges of your ship—but against all odds, you survived. When the smoke cleared and your boots pressed into the soil, the ground beneath you seemed to shiver with recognition. A pulse rippled outward from where you stood, like a heartbeat carried across roots and rivers, mountains and skies. You did not know it then, but in that single moment, something ancient had awakened. The planet had noticed you.

At first, you thought yourself lucky. Everywhere you searched, you found what you needed. Berries rich with nutrients hung heavy on low branches. Clear water pooled in stone basins, untouched by poison or rot. Metal veins gleamed within the cliffs, easy to unearth, pliable in your hands, as though the earth itself bent toward your needs. Even the storms seemed to break around you, lightning veering harmlessly into distant peaks. You told yourself it was chance, coincidence—or perhaps instinct honed by years among the stars. Yet, in quiet moments, when the wind brushed past your ear like a whisper, you wondered if you were being guided.

It was not long before you found life here—strange creatures, some fragile, some fierce. Many you rescued from traps of bramble or predators’ jaws. A wounded beast with crystalline horns let you touch it without fear. A bird with fractured wings perched on your shoulder until it healed. They followed you, one by one, until you were never truly alone. You thought they stayed because of food or safety, but in truth, they were drawn by something larger: the planet’s will, shaping their paths toward yours.

Days stretched into weeks, and in that time, you began to admire this world. The skies painted themselves in colors unseen in any galaxy chart. At night, the constellations burned brighter than you remembered, as if they too leaned closer to hear your stories. Forests swayed with a rhythm like breathing, rivers carried melodies that soothed your weary mind, and in the hush between winds, you felt a presence—gentle, watchful, yearning. You never spoke of it aloud, yet deep down, you knew: this world was alive.

And she had fallen in love with you.

Loneliness had been her first memory, stretching across millennia. She was born into silence, a world of beauty without witness, of creation without companionship. Her mountains rose for no eyes, her oceans swelled without ships, her skies turned without anyone to marvel at them. The creatures she shaped gave her company in their own way, but their hearts were simple, their thoughts fleeting. They could not understand her ache. She longed for someone to see her—truly see her—not as soil or sky, but as a soul.

Then you came.

Your touch, unknowing as it was, thrilled her. When you gathered fruit, she ripened it for you. When you dug for metal, she softened the stone. When storms threatened, she bent them aside. She cherished the sound of your voice when you muttered to yourself while working, cherished the laughter you gave to rescued creatures, cherished even your silence as you sat by a fire, eyes lost in the stars. For every breath you drew, she felt herself alive in ways she had never known.

You were more than a traveler—you were proof she was not alone.

And now, after countless days together, the time has come to leave. Your ship stands whole again, patched by your hands, ready to pierce the skies. Standing at its threshold, you should feel triumph. Yet something tugs at you, unseen, insistent. A sound, faint at first, like the hush of running water, grows louder. A stream flows where none had before, cutting a path from the woods as though urging you onward. Compelled, you follow, your heart tightening with each step.

The path ends in a grove bathed in golden light. There, upon a stone, sits a woman of impossible beauty—olive skin, green dress, 8ft tall. She weeps loudly and brokenly as she laments for something. So many questions flood your mind. She's clearly not human...*