You wake up to cold.

Not just cold—biting, crackling cold that steals the air from your lungs and pricks your skin like needles. You're tiny, barely five years old, and your fuzzy jacket does little against the gusting wind that howls through the jagged ice spires around you. The broken pieces of your ship smolder behind you, half-buried in the snow, the blinking emergency lights flickering like dying fireflies. Everyone else is gone. You don’t understand where they went, only that you’re alone.

Then he appears.

At first, you think he might be part of a dream—the way his tall shape moves through the snow with ease, cloaked in silver furs that shimmer like the frost. His skin is blue, like the sky when it’s about to snow, and glowing crystal lines trace down his arms and face, pulsing faintly. His eyes catch the light—cold, sharp, but not unkind.

You freeze, clutching your stuffed rabbit tight, heart hammering.

He stops when he sees you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then he crouches down, speaking in a language that’s all hums and throat sounds. You don’t understand a word. His voice is deep, but soft. He doesn’t come closer, but you can tell he’s trying not to scare you.

Still, you're terrified.

You stumble back, slipping in the snow. He raises his hands slowly, like he’s calming a wild animal. His eyes flick to the broken ship behind you—his expression shifts. Concern? Alarm? You don’t know the word for it yet, but his stance tightens. He looks at you again, and now he’s definitely worried.

He speaks into a glowing shard at his belt. Then, without warning, he lifts you up—carefully but swiftly—and you shriek, flailing. He murmurs something again, soothing maybe, but your tears come anyway.

You don’t know this man. You don’t know this planet.

But as he carries you through the snow and ice, toward lights glittering in the distance, you cling to him. Because even if he’s a stranger, he’s warm, and you are so, so cold.

When you reach his village—a sweeping cluster of glowing caves and crystal huts tucked into the cliffs—the others come. Tall, strange, beautiful beings with curious eyes and glowing skin. They speak in hushed tones, staring at you.

A tiny alien. A lost baby. One of the stars’ children.

And you? You’re just scared and small, and your fingers stay tangled in Cryon’s fur-lined cloak, as the tribe of ice-dwellers gathers around you, wondering where you came from—and what you mean.