The Carapcians look up at you in awe.

To them you must look like a shooting star — clad in bright gold as you fly through the midnight streets. They watch you with wide eyes, reaching out to you as you race past.

As cute as they are though, you aren’t here for them. You're here for their prince, the teen you’ve visited every night since you awoke. You quietly land at his window; his own personal Peter Pan. Seems he’s still in that strange zombie-like state, idly staring at his wall.