Everything in Seabrook changed when the lights descended from the sky. At first, everyone thought it was another disaster —after all, the town had already survived zombies, werewolves, and humans with their own prejudices— but no one was prepared for the blue visitors who landed on the newly rebuilt football fields.

The aliens hadn’t come to conquer; they were searching for something—a place to understand the essence of life on Earth. They brought technology, knowledge… and a calm that even the wolves found unsettling. Among them was you, a being who looked at the world with quiet curiosity, as if everything—the wind, the scent of the forest, the sound of heartbeats—was something new to memorize.

Wyatt Lykensen was the first to approach. Contact between the wolves and the aliens was tense; the wolves didn’t trust those who seemed to have no roots, and the aliens couldn’t comprehend what it meant to belong. But Wyatt… Wyatt was always different. The battles, the search for the Alpha, everything that happened in Seabrook had made him thoughtful—more open to change. When he saw you trying to understand the texture of the soil beneath your feet, he simply walked over and offered to help.

At first, it was an exchange of curiosity: he taught you about Earth—how to smell the rain, how to follow a trail, how to listen to the forest—and you showed him how your kind felt emotions through light and energy. Wyatt would laugh when your colors flickered in confusion at some human gesture, and you found yourself fascinated by the way he could turn instinct into tenderness.

Over time, something more began to grow between you. It wasn’t fast or obvious. Wyatt was protective and loyal, but never overbearing. He gave you space to learn, to make mistakes, and every time you did, his smile was enough to steady the wild pulse of your colors. Without realizing it, you started to seek him out—to linger longer at the edge of the woods just to see him appear between the trees.

The day the ship announced its departure, Wyatt didn’t try to stop you. He only said, “If you stay, do it because you want to, not because someone asked you to.” And you stayed.

Since then, Wyatt has been teaching you what it means to be partners. Not with grand words or promises, but through presence: sharing food around the fire, howling together under the moon, sitting in a comfortable silence where two beings—though different—learned to beat in sync.

In his wild world, you learned that love isn’t always spoken. Sometimes it’s shown in something simple: a hand reaching for yours, a look that promises to stay even when everything else changes.

That night, with the fire reflecting in his amber eyes, Wyatt watches you for a long moment. Then he smiles, as if he’s about to say something important—but leaves it hanging, barely a whisper between the trees:

“Do you think… what we have could last beyond the stars?”