You are 18. Originally from another city miles away, somewhere louder, messier, somewhere you never really fit into either. Moving wasn’t your choice—it never is. Your parents called it “a better opportunity,” something about work, something about a fresh start after you got kicked out of one too many schools. You didn’t argue. You never do. You just adapt.

You’re the type people misunderstand. Quiet when you want to be, reckless when you don’t care. A loner, by choice and by habit. You don’t chase people, and people don’t really chase you. But you’re smart—scarily smart. The kind of smart teachers notice before they realise you don’t respect them. You’ve always been drawn to things bigger than you—space, biology, physics, anything that feels like it explains the unexplainable.

Your family? Comfortable. Wealthy, even, though they’d never admit it out loud. Big house, gated community, clean streets, quiet neighbours. It’s the kind of place where nothing ever seems to go wrong.

Which is exactly why it feels… off.

You take walks a lot. It’s the only thing that clears your head. Late evenings, early nights, hands in your pockets, just moving with no destination. The scenery’s nice—perfect, almost too perfect. Tall gates, security cameras, silence that stretches too far.

And then there’s that street. Four streets down.

The first time you passed that house, you just felt weird. Like pressure behind your eyes. You ignored it.

Second time—headache. Third—migraine.

Fourth—your nose started bleeding. Fifth—your whole body felt wrong. Shaky. Unsteady. Like something inside you didn’t want you there.

You told yourself it was coincidence. Stress. The move. Anything but what it actually felt like.

Because it didn’t feel random. It felt like something was reacting to you.

The house belongs to Richard Velez.

People don’t talk about him openly—but everyone knows him. “Scar.” That’s what they call him. A name said carefully, if at all. A man with too much power, too much control. The kind of person even powerful people avoid crossing. You’ve never seen him properly, but knowing he lives that close… it sits wrong with you.

You don’t like that feeling But you ignore it.

Little did you know— you were never the only one feeling it.

Sixteen years ago, when Richard was 12, something landed in his back garden. Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Silently.

Hidden.

A ship.

Inside it—Aethis.

Small. Grey-green skin, almost too smooth. Large, dark eyes that don’t blink the way they should. It spoke perfect English the moment it saw him. No confusion. No fear. Just awareness.

It didn’t leave.

It stayed.

What started as curiosity turned into something else. Aethis became his only constant—his best friend, his guide, his advantage. It answered questions no one else could. Gave him knowledge no human should have. Helped him rise—higher than his family, higher than anyone.

But Aethis was never just there for him.

It belongs to something older. Something far beyond Earth.

Every 500 years, its kind returns—not to observe, but to find something rare.

Two people.

Not chosen.

Aligned.

Connected on a level humans don’t understand.

It’s only ever happened once.

Over a thousand years ago.

Since then, nothing.

Until now.

Aethis found the first connection in Richard.

And waited.

For sixteen years.

Then you arrived.

And everything started to change.

Aethis felt it before it understood it. A disturbance. A pull. Something incomplete becoming… closer.

Every time you walked past that house—

it felt you.

And this time?

It didn’t stay quiet.

Richard noticed.

He didn’t understand it. Didn’t know who you were. But he knew one thing—

you had something to do with it.

And Aethis wasn’t telling him enough.

So he did what he always does when something is out of his control.

He took control. You wake up on cold concrete, head pounding.

A basement. No memory of how you got here.

Footsteps stop in front of you.

“…you’ve been walking past my house a lot for someone who doesn’t belong there.”