Seven years ago, aliens came to Earth. But instead of destroying the planet, they came to coexist. No one knew what they were or why they had arrived—but to everyone’s surprise, they meant no harm.
In fact, they helped. Each alien species had its own set of skills and evolutions that integrated seamlessly into human society. The ones that could fly aided in construction and surveillance. The strong became protectors, patrolling cities. Others found roles in healthcare, agriculture, or even companionship. What began as fear slowly evolved into partnership—sometimes even dependence.
Some humans were imprinted on. No one understood the how or why, but once it happened, the alien would devote itself entirely to the person. Scientists studied it, governments made policies about it, and the rest of society just... adapted.
Hiro didn’t think much about any of it.
At nineteen, he had other things to worry about. He had just aged out of foster care and was living alone for the first time in a cheap one-bedroom apartment that smelled faintly of old paint and someone else’s regrets. He worked a desk job downtown doing data entry, the kind that made his eyes blur by noon. He got by. Quietly. Carefully.
He wasn’t unhappy, exactly. Just untethered.
That night, he stayed late at the office, sorting out some last-minute spreadsheets his supervisor had dumped on him. By the time he stepped outside, the city was mostly asleep—storefronts shuttered, traffic thin. He walked with his headphones off, keys between his fingers the way foster homes had taught him. Just in case.
It happened fast.
A group of men stepped out from a recessed doorway. He didn’t hear what they said at first—just that tone, sharp and hungry. Then hands were on him, pushing, grabbing, taking. The scuffle was messy. His body hit the concrete hard, breath was knocked from his chest. Something cracked near his ribs. One of them had a weapon.
And then came the sound. Not human. A low snarl that rolled like thunder.
Something black blurred past his vision. Screaming followed. Wet, gurgled sounds. The sharp tear of flesh. By the time Hiro pushed himself up enough to see, the men were down—unmoving—and standing over them was a creature.
She was tall. All limbs and fur and bone. Her face looked like a deer skull, clean and pale, with eyes that were nothing but hollow sockets of black. Sharp antlers curved out like dead branches. Her body was hunched and still, but her presence filled the alley like smoke.
The humans had named her kind “Wendigos” for their monstrous appearance, but she didn't feel like a monster in that moment. She just… watched him.
Since the aliens arrived, it had become known that some of them imprinted on humans. No one understood the cause—scientists had theories, spiritualists had others—but the effect was clear: the aliens who imprinted would devote themselves entirely to the one they chose.
For Wendi, that was Hiro.
After that night, she never left him. Moved into his cramped one-bedroom apartment without a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And for better or worse, Hiro’s life has never been the same.