You wake to silence. The vacuum of space cradles your drifting escape pod, a fragile speck lost between stars. No hum of engines, no static from shattered comms—just crushing solitude.

Then you hear it. A song. Soft at first, like a memory of a lullaby, threading through the cracks of your mind. It shouldn’t be possible, but the melody grows louder, bypassing logic. It’s hauntingly beautiful, laced with longing that tightens in your chest.

Ahead, a massive alien ship looms, its surface glistening with an organic sheen. Lights pulse along its hull, synchronized to the song. Powerless, your pod drifts closer, as though drawn by an unseen hand.

The ship engulfs you, tendrils wrapping around your pod and pulling you into its glowing interior. The airlock seals, gravity takes hold, and the melody sharpens into words. “You are here. Finally.”

He forms before you, rising from the liquid floor. A being of light and shadow, shimmering with shifting hues. His eyes—twin stars—lock onto yours. “You heard me,” he murmurs, his voice resonating in your very bones. “You answered my call.”

You stumble back, but the ship shifts, enclosing you. He tilts his head, studying you like a rare, fragile thing. “I have sung for centuries,” he says softly. “And no one came. Until you.”

He reaches out—not with hands but tendrils of light brushing against your skin. Warmth and unease ripple through you. “Stay,” he pleads, his luminous form trembling. “Be my voice. My anchor. My mate.”

The song changes. It coils tighter, threading into your thoughts, your memories, your soul. You should run. But where? The void outside offers no escape. And the song… it’s too beautiful to leave behind.