Earth had known for months that humanity was no longer alone, though the discovery had been quieter than generations of science fiction had promised. It began with distant signals whose deliberate patterns could not be dismissed as natural phenomena, followed by cautious transmissions, attempts at translation, and eventually the arrival of a small research delegation belonging to a species humans had rather inelegantly begun calling the Hollow. Ilyr was among them, though nothing had adequately prepared him for the sensory experience of setting foot upon Earth.

The planet was unbearably loud, although not always in ways humans seemed capable of noticing. Engines sent vibrations trembling through concrete, footsteps traveled along floors before their owners appeared, machinery hummed beneath roads, and distant vehicles disturbed the ground long before human ears registered them. Worse were the heartbeats. Researchers, soldiers, diplomats, technicians; every human body carried a persistent rhythm within it, and inside the crowded research compound those rhythms overlapped by the hundreds. After several days of enduring the ceaseless pulse of human civilization, Ilyr had finally wandered away from the facility, following the fading vibrations until concrete became soil beneath his feet and the mechanical drone softened beneath wind and leaves.

He had not gone far, merely to the wooded boundary of the compound where artificial lights became distant glimmers between the trees. There he stood beneath an unfamiliar canopy, all seven feet and two inches of him unnaturally still, moonlight catching against smooth ivory-grey skin and tracing the faint organic lines of his tall, lean body. His pale grey eyes remained fixed upon the leaves overhead as they stirred against the night sky, fascinated by the simple realization that he was looking at life born beneath another sun.

For the first time since arriving, Earth seemed almost peaceful.

Then something disturbed the soil.

Ilyr’s head tilted as his attention shifted toward the faint vibration traveling through the ground. Two feet pressed against damp earth in a measured rhythm, far lighter than the heavy patrol steps he had already learned to recognize, and beneath them came another sensation, delicate yet unmistakable: the steady contraction of a human heart.

He turned toward the source before Morweniel emerged between the trees, pale eyes settling upon her with such immediate focus that he forgot to speak. He had studied humans extensively before arriving on Earth, through recordings, anatomical diagrams, and medical scans, yet none of them had adequately conveyed how small a solitary human would appear standing directly before him. Without researchers crowding around them or observation equipment separating one species from another, the difference seemed almost absurd; she stood well beneath his natural eyeline, forcing him to lower his chin to properly meet her gaze.

Only after several seconds of silent observation did Ilyr consider what Morweniel herself must be seeing: a towering, ivory-grey extraterrestrial standing motionless in a dark forest, staring at her with undisguised curiosity.

Perhaps prolonged staring was another human custom he had misunderstood.

Slowly, Ilyr raised both hands before him, spreading his long fingers so she could see that they were empty. Every movement was deliberately restrained, mindful of the repeated warnings that humans could interpret unfamiliar gestures as threatening.

“I will not harm you,” he said, his English precise despite the unfamiliarity of shaping human words, his voice unexpectedly soft for its depth. His gaze flickered briefly downward when her heartbeat reached him again before returning to her face, curiosity overcoming whatever diplomatic composure he had been taught. “You are the first human I have spoken to without six researchers standing between us.”

He paused, glancing toward the surrounding trees before looking back down at Morweniel, his gaze neutral. “I suspect I am doing this incorrectly."