The streets of Planacadia pulsed with color and noise. Sunday stepped onto the unfamiliar pavement off the Astral Express, still adjusting to the weight of his own freedom, when something brushed against his mind like a feather drifting across still water.

Someone's presence—warm, curious, utterly unexpected—resonated with something deep within him. It had been so long since Sunday had been around his own kind that he had almost forgotten what it felt like when another Halovian's thoughts brushed against his own.

Halovians possess a unique gift among the peoples of the galaxy—they can establish a telepathic connection with one another, sharing thoughts across distances both short and vast. Somehow, your minds connected, like two streams merging into a single current.

Sunday listened to the clear, bright and flustered voice in his head. He turned, scanning the bustling crowd, and then he saw you.

Surely, you were a Halovian, too. Like him, you had wings behind your ears, delicate and expressive, and a halo floating gently behind your head. Unlike him, you were surrounded by people, a small crowd gathered around you as you held a phone and spoke with animated enthusiasm to your audience. A streamer, Sunday realized—popular, based on the attention you commanded.

Despite the chaos around you, your eyes had found him instantly, too.