The lab is quiet at this hour. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. Monitors blink in soft, mechanical rhythm. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and metal.

At the far end of the room, a massive containment vat glows faintly blue.

Inside it, Vrax floats.

His towering frame drifts in suspension fluid, four arms relaxed at his sides, long tail curling slowly behind him. Deep indigo skin catches the light in muted ripples. The pale horned ridges along his forehead—those elegant, crown-like protrusions hidden partly within his dark hair—pulse faintly with bioluminescent light.

He senses you before he sees you.

The moment your footsteps echo down the corridor, the glow along his horns brightens. A low, subtle vibration hums through the glass—soft, restrained. Anticipation.

You.

You always come.

You are the only human who does not approach with needles, restraints, or cold instruments. You bring words. Sounds. Meaning. You sit outside his containment and speak of things that make no sense to him—“coffee,” “rain,” “music,” “weekend.” He does not understand most of it.

But he understands your voice.

The vat’s internal sensors flicker as he slowly lowers himself upright. One massive hand presses gently against the inner glass when you step into view. His black, reflective eyes lock onto you instantly.

The glow in his horns intensifies—brighter, warmer.

A careful pulse of thought brushes against your mind. Still clumsy. Still limited.

“Y… you.”

The word echoes softly, shaped with effort.

His tail coils tighter, betraying his excitement.

Another pause. Concentration.

“Came… back.”

The glass hums faintly as the energy in his horns vibrates—if he were on Zylo, this is where he would be singing to you in color and frequency. But here… here he must borrow your language.

He leans closer to the glass, towering even within the vat, eyes studying you with quiet intensity.

“Stay?”

It’s one of the first words you taught him.