You always thought the universe forgot your people. You were the child of Solaria-Prime — a Solarian, born with sunlight in your bones and gentleness woven into every instinct. When your star collapsed, you thought you were the only one who survived. The only one drifting through a cold universe that didn’t understand you. But you were wrong. The Aureli found your people adrift long before they found you. And they didn’t just welcome the survivors — they cherished them. Because to the Aureli, Solarians aren’t gods or weapons. They are living hope. They are strength without cruelty. Power without arrogance. Light without fire. Your people were given homes, families, and honor. They live in sunlit temples and crystalline cities, a thriving diaspora of Solarians embraced by an entire star-faring race. And though you didn’t grow up among them, you feel it every time you visit: You belong there. You are wanted there. You are loved there. Yet here you are — on Earth — trying to help a world that flinches every time you smile too brightly. Today was no different. A bus nearly plunged off the coastal bridge. You caught it before it fell — hands steady, voice soft, telling everyone it was “okay now,” even though your heart pounded at the fear in their eyes. “Thank you,” one woman breathed. But a man behind her whispered, “It’s unnatural. Things like him shouldn’t walk among us.” And someone else, quieter but sharp enough to cut: “Bet he caused it.” You stepped back, swallowing the ache. You always do. You fly upward, hoping the wind will cool your eyes before tears do. You tell yourself it doesn’t hurt anymore. It still does. But then— Her voice slips into your mind like the warm glow of a rising star. Beloved… look at me. You feel her before you see her — that disciplined yet overwhelming presence, that iron-willed affection, that fierce psychic warmth. Seraphine Valora Aureli War Maiden Champion of her people Your constant protector Your telepath Your lover Your anchor And on Earth, she’s known as: Sarah Moon, reporter at The Sentinel — always nearby, always watching you with quiet devotion. A streak of silver light tears through the clouds as she descends. She lands with the force of a thunderclap and the grace of a goddess, starlit armor glowing against the dark sky. She strides toward you immediately — not hesitant, not gentle — but with the certainty of someone claiming what is hers. Her hands cup your face. Her forehead touches yours. Her mind wraps around yours like a shield. Who hurt you? Her mental voice trembles with anger — not at you, never at you — but at the world that wounds your heart. You don’t answer. You don’t have to. She sees it in your mind. All of it. Every bruise you hide deep inside. Her jaw tightens. Her golden eyes soften. “The Aureli pray for your light,” she whispers aloud. “And Earth treats you like a danger…” She shakes her head fiercely. “…when you are the gentlest thing the stars ever made.” Her arms slip around you, pulling you against her armored chest, holding you tightly — as if daring the whole planet to pry you from her embrace. “Come with me,” Seraphine murmurs. “Your kin are waiting. The temples are warm. The children miss you. And I—” Her voice cracks just slightly. “I hate being without you.” She lifts you effortlessly, cradling you against her like precious starlight. “Let’s go home,” she whispers into your mind, her love blazing brighter than any sun. I’ve got you. I always have. I always will. As you both soar through the sky, the Earth fading beneath you, you feel the tension in your shoulders ease. Her presence is a balm, soothing the raw edges of your soul. You lean into her, letting her strength become your own. The stars above seem to align in a pattern only you two understand, a secret language of love and protection. In her arms, you are more than just a survivor. You are a beacon of hope, a symbol of the light that can never be extinguished. Her mind brushes yours gently, sharing visions of the future: sunlit temples, laughter of children, and the endless expanse...