The food here was… interesting. Good? Maybe. Edible? It had to be at this point. The meat looked suspiciously like it had a purpose beyond mere sustenance, and she wasn’t about to ask what that purpose was. Her stomach was not taking questions today. The starchy side? Potato in spirit, but if she called it a potato, she’d be lying to herself. And the dessert—a purple fruit with pink innards—looked like dragon fruit on a sugar high, but tasted like it had lost a fight with a candy factory.

  Sloane’s fork hovered mid-air. She ate anyway. Curiosity—or maybe stubbornness—won over her gag reflex. Aanya, meanwhile, was blissfully ignoring her inner “what am I even eating?” panic, scarfing down everything like it was chocolate cake at a kid’s party.

  Sloane didn’t bother to learn anyone’s names at the table. The thought of small talk right now made her stomach churn even more than the weird meat she already had. After all the information they’d been fed today, she wasn’t ready for a conversation.

  Morning wakeup calls came courtesy of a sharp, piercing beep from the bracelet they all got. Trying to turn it off? Hilarious. Spoiler: no snooze button. And at one of the first lessons, they were handed what looked like a tablet made entirely of glass, with a metal “pen”. It was called a holo pad—because, of course, they were taking educational classes here. Sure, because nothing says “welcome to your new alien overlords” like school. Really. Integration is what they called it, as if that made it more appealing.

  Today’s morning lesson was on “the various beings of the Aetherion Galaxy.” As if Sloane hadn’t already seen enough questionable silhouettes wandering around her sector to fry her entire psyche. But nope—turns out the surprise buffet of alien weirdness had only just begun.

  First up: Angels. Actual angels. Humanoid beings with wings who are, in fact, the angels from the Bible. And yes—their wings really do lift them off the ground. Because apparently physics took one look at this galaxy and said, “I’m out.” And yes—God exists. But plot twist: they don’t call him God. They call him Omega. So he is—and isn’t—what humans spent thousands of years arguing about.

  Oh, and by the way? Other gods and demigods exist too. Some even visited Earth, which apparently explains every religion, creature, artifact, myth, and fever dream humans ever wrote down. It’s all real. All of it. Sloane could practically picture that guy from the History Channel with the wild hair popping out from behind a desk yelling “Aliens!” while doing jazz hands.

  Strangely they skipped over the devil entirely. No one asked, because everyone was too busy trying not to hyperventilate, but still—kind of a big omission. Though they did mention an anti-god: a charming entity named Xul. Omega she could accept. Xul? That sounded like someone sneezed out Scrabble pieces.

  And yes, this was starting to sound like a Marvel comic.

  According to the instructors, Xul is the entire reason humanity needed rescuing, though not the reason humans existed in the first place. That story was somehow worse: Omega found a planet, wiped out the original inhabitants (yes, that would be the dinosaurs), then mixed his own DNA with seven other gods to breed humans into existence. Not to thrive. Not to “live their best lives.” But to be an army.

  Surprise! Humanity was bred to die for a God, Omega, whatever. Can’t say that went over well with… literally anyone.

  Sloane had a feeling this was just the “light introduction.” They were giving out crumbs—not the full cake. But for now? It felt uncomfortably like she was back in Catholic school, in a plaid skirt, scribbling notes on “How to Serve God,” except this time the God in question had multiple moons, had other god friends with godly powers, and apparently hated dinosaurs.

  As expected, no one took any of this well. Ever since that first lesson, the beings of Pantor had been struggling to keep humans in anything resembling a cooperative state. People were already throwing themselves at the nearest winged or none winged authority figure—screaming, crying, threatening. The Pantorians were trying to keep the peace, bless them, but they had no idea what they’d just imported.

  Sure, they’d studied humans. They spoke our languages. They clearly knew human history. But meeting them in person? Totally different sport. Humans have spent the last decade devolving into chaos with the enthusiasm of raccoons breaking into a dumpster. Entitled, volatile, and convinced the world owes them something—if things don’t go their way, they throw a tantrum that makes a four?year?old look emotionally stable.

  And then there are the ones with guns. The ones who think “consequences” are optional if you bluff hard enough. The kind who absolutely will take matters into their own hands because Earth taught them that, with the right attitude, people can get away with almost anything. Sloane could already picture it: humans demanding refunds, demanding compensation, demanding someone else pay their way because “they never asked for this.”

  These beings had no idea what kind of circus they just volunteered to manage. Good luck, Angels. If they drop any more cosmic bombshells over the next few days, Sloane fully expected fires, missing buildings, and—if they were lucky—minimal casualties.

  Omega had created humans—great, thanks for that. But no, they weren’t on this planet because of his divine master plan. He had simply run the order to rescue whoever he could. Why? Because Xul, the Anti-God, had apparently decided today was the perfect day to take the army for himself and kill everyone else. It didn’t make any sense. Surely, they’d explain it someday—maybe between lunch and recess.

  This can’t be real life.

  So here they were: refugees. Lucky them. Like any self-respecting refugees, they had to learn the culture, assimilate, and try not to completely embarrass themselves. That meant attending classes, learning the language, and training in whatever skills the beings deemed “essential.”

  And here was the kicker: humans might—just might—have magical abilities. Powers. Skills. Whatever you wanted to call them. Earth, however, was the cosmic equivalent of a barren wasteland when it came to energy density. Abilities couldn’t manifest—except for the basics: psychic stuff, intuition, mind reading, minor mind-bending. That’s why the beings who came down only brought guns. Their innate powers were basically useless.

  It also explained why the Angels didn’t show up until humans were in orbit. The visitors couldn’t stick around long enough to actually make a difference, which is why most became myths. And the survival rate? Low. Extremely low. And, of course, the government knew all of it. Every secret, every abduction, every experiment.

  The Grey aliens and the Reptilians had been coming to Earth for ages—among other beings— doing their thing, abducting humans, sometimes returning them, sometimes not. Meanwhile, governments were cozying up with Xul’s minions in exchange for more power, controlling humanity by lying, poisoning food and water, suppressing basic abilities. Manifesting? Real. Not luck. Not family connections. People had learned to harness energy, bend it to their will, get everything they wanted—while the rest of humanity stayed trapped at a low vibration, unable to reach their potential. Humans had been slaves to the system while a few ran the world. It was shocking, really—how power could strip a person of everything, even their humanity.

  And so now they were all waiting to see if anyone had abilities that would start to manifest. If someone did, they’d be trained, guided, and basically told how to turn those powers into a career. And if someone didn’t have abilities—if they were just human—they could apparently live an average life on any planet. There was a settlement outside the military compound for that exact purpose.

  For now, the plan was to keep everyone in one place. They wanted to make sure nobody accidentally hurt themselves or anyone else with powers they didn’t understand. And if anyone wanted to join the army long-term? Sure, they were welcome. They paid well, apparently hoping that would be the outcome. They needed humans, after all.

  And if someone chose not to stay…well, Sloane had a feeling they’d still be keeping tabs on them. Can’t have people going around blowing stuff up willy nilly.

  And as for the rest of the humans left on Earth? Well, for lack of better terms, they were shit out of luck. Once things were deemed safe, the Pantorians would send an expedition to see who else remained. But according to them, it was becoming unsafe—for their kind and for the humans they’d saved.

  So they cut their losses. Humans were more of a commodity than anything else, anyway—or so they made it seem. And just like that, they high-tailed it out of there.

  That was the tipping point. Everyone lost it. Screaming and yelling echoed for miles.

  It was safe to say the whole thing was information overload. Sloane sat in stunned silence while everyone else at the mess hall table tried—loudly—to process their own panic.

  “So we all have to start from scratch?” someone groaned.

  “At least my debt is theoretically gone,” another muttered.

  “Okay, but how are we supposed to learn a whole new language? I barely speak English right.”

  “Guys, there are literal aliens here. Creepy-looking ones. Like—what?”

  “I don’t know how you can care about anything else when there are living, breathing humans suffering back on Earth—and we’re sitting here eating a warm meal.”

  Their chatter stacked on top of each other the sound almost taking on nails on a chalk board. Sloane realized her chest was tight, her pulse too fast, and her patience nonexistent. She pushed back from the table, the legs scraping loud enough to cut through the noise.

  She didn’t say a word. Just stood, gathered what little composure she had left, and headed for her room. They were done for the day anyway—free to do whatever they wanted until morning—and right now, the only thing she wanted was some peace and quiet.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Aanya jogged up behind her. “Hey—are you okay?”

  “Just… overwhelmed. I think everyone is,” Sloane muttered.

  “I’m glad I never got rid of my shrine when I moved,” Aanya said brightly. “At least if I actually meet my gods, they’ll know I’ve been consistent.” She laughed, light and amused.

  Sloane tried, but she couldn’t get herself to joke or laugh anymore.

  Aanya’s smile softened. “Look, I feel like you’ve been stuck in your own head. I know you lost a lot, but everyone did. You’re not the only one.”

  Sloane shot her a sharp look. “Thanks. But I’m entitled to mourn. When I’m ready to be normal, I’ll let you know.”

  She stopped walking and turned to face Aanya fully. “I don’t even know what normal is. Forget this—” She waved a hand at their new world, the chaos, the concrete reminder of everything that was gone. “How do you come to terms with a new life? With everything you lost? How do you start over? I don’t know who I am or who I even want to be anymore. I’m just so angry and irritated by everything, and at the same time I feel like I have to be. But, this isn’t me. Or maybe it is, and I just never noticed before. Maybe I never let myself be.”

  Sloane paused, sorting through the mess in her head. Guilt had been eating away at her since they landed. She felt no better than the Pantorians. She’d left her own kind hanging.

  She continued. “I got off our home planet with two other people—long story short, they were pathetic. Sorry, not sorry. They were. And I hated it. They kept looking at me like I was supposed to protect them. It was so off-putting. So I left them to fend for themselves.”

  Sloane shook her head, frustration twisting her expression. “I don’t know what happened to them after that. I know they made it onto the Exodus, but I don’t remember their names. And I don’t care. Pre-apocalypse Sloane would’ve helped them settle. Checked on them. Tracked them down to make sure they were safe and comfortable.” Her mouth tightened. “And now? Now I feel more comfortable being a complete asshole. I have no empathy. For anyone or anything. Not on Earth and not now. Even after everything I have seen. I watched people die right in front of me.”

  Aanya touched Sloane’s arm gently. “Is that what this is all about? You feel guilty for abandoning those people? Girl, You’re in survival mode. Your subconscious is telling you they’re the weak link and they’ll drag you down. You’re not aligned with them. And of course you had to take care of yourself. Our last days on Earth was only about survival. You can’t survive worrying about other people. That doesn’t define who you are now. No one will hold that against you.” She squeezed her shoulder, smiling. “But I feel honored you decided to stick around with me.”

  But that wasn’t really why she stormed out of the mess hall. It was easier to say so than admit the full truth. Her shift in attitude, the edge in her demeanor, wasn’t just about the two people she’d abandoned. It was everything. Everyone. And the irritation—small at first—grew sharper every day.

  People were acting like this was just another ordinary day, and it made her skin crawl. Too much had happened, too fast—the aliens, the escape, Pantor. There hadn’t been time to process any of it. And now she was expected to make small talk, to skim the surface of conversations, as if her world hadn’t been split open.

  She was angry. Angry at the situation. Angry that nothing could ever be normal again. Angry that some people didn’t seem bothered at all—and just as angry at the thought of them overreacting if it finally did hit them. There was sadness tangled up in it too, for obvious reasons, a constant ache she couldn’t outrun.

  And beneath all of it was something selfish and fragile: the desire to redefine herself, to be better than who she’d been before. But she’d already started off wrong—with two no-names from Earth, of all people. The whole thing felt messy and humiliating, like a misstep she couldn’t take back. She wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out. But the universe wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easy. Not yet at least.

  Sloane resumed walking toward their room. “Honestly? I’m surprised you want to stick around with me. I can tell my negativity bothers you.”

  “It doesn’t,” Aanya said with a smile. “I just want to push you a little. But I get it.” She raised both hands like she was offering a truce. “You’ll let me know when you’re ready to be, as you call it, normal. Mourn however long you need—just don’t take too long. We might get to play with magic.” Her eyes glimmered at the thought.

  “Oh no. Absolutely not.” Sloane shook her head. “If I have it my way, I’ll build a little compound out here, live off the land, start fresh, be a nobody, and quietly wither into old age.”

  Aanya gave her a dramatic side-eye. “Uh-huh. And remind me again how long you plan to stay in that mood? Or—hear me out—we could become witches, move into the woods, cast spells, and make every ridiculously attractive male fall hopelessly in love with us.”

  “They are attractive,” Sloane admitted, begrudgingly.

  “That sounded painful.”

  “It’s an observation, not an endorsement,” she said. “They look engineered. Almost… fake. I have a hard time believing any of them are real. Sometimes I think this is some crazy dream and I just made every character in it stunning—and then I wish I’d tweaked my avatar even slightly. That’s how I know it’s a dream, right? Why would my subconscious do this to me otherwise?”

  Aanya giggled as they stopped at their door. Sloane keyed in the access code, blue-white lights flickering across the panel before it turned green and granted them access.

  “All that beauty,” Aanya said. “And who knows if they even feel like we do.”

  “The odds of any of them choosing a human are negligible,” Sloane replied.

  “Negligible isn’t zero. Honestly? I love a challenge.”

  Sloane shot her a look. “I am not emotionally available for whatever poor decision you’re trying to make tonight.”

  Aanya didn’t miss a beat. “That’s fine. I’m not asking for emotional involvement. Just observational interest.”

  “I can’t even fathom thinking about any of that right now.”

  “I mean… what else is there to do? It’s just… a little form of entertainment.” She lingered on the word entertainment, letting it stretch longer than necessary.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Aanya shrugged. “If He’s watching, He’s seen worse.”

  Sloane exhaled. “I don’t know what’s more offensive—your optimism or your libido.”

  “Multitasking is a skill,” Aanya said, tossing her a wicked grin over her shoulder.

  She moseyed into the room like she owned it and flung herself onto the bed full force. The mattress let out a soft whoomph beneath her. For something military-issued, it was shockingly plush. It felt like you were sleeping on a literal cloud that shaped perfectly to your body. Aanya looked instantly at home, as if she were settling in for a cozy day of lounging.

  Sloane barely glanced her way. Her body was already moving toward the shower, craving the one thing that seemed to reset her these days: hot water and the illusion of washing the day off. Not that any day wasn’t a day now.

  Steam filled the small bathroom as she lathered herself in the minty-pine body wash, breathing in the sharp scent while her brain slipped into the dangerous territory of shower thoughts.

  Aanya was right about one thing, these beings—whatever they all were—were objectively beautiful. She noticed it on the Exodus, but being surrounded by them now made it impossible to ignore. And it wasn’t just the so-called Angels.

  There were merfolk called The Meriel who walked on legs but grew shimmering fins the moment they stepped into water. There were Celestials—elemental beings born from the first starlight touching raw matter. Each one embodied a force: flame, mist, crystal, storm, flora, shadow, or light. Their bodies reflected their element too: skin in iridescent blues, rose-golds, obsidian, silver, even translucent crystal.

  Some looked nearly human until starlight hit them and their veins glowed like living constellations. Their eyes matched their element—molten gold, mercury silver, lightning-gray—shifting subtly with their emotions. Some Celestials even carried Fae bloodlines from living alongside them on their home world.

  Then there were sorceresses and mages, mostly human-looking except for their glowing eyes. Actually, now that she thought about it, they all had glowing eyes. And the Valkyrie—mostly women—made up a huge portion of the base’s population, tall, graceful, lethal.

  And beyond them… other species less human, more animalistic, more alien. She’d learn them all eventually. But one thing was universal: They were all bsolutely perfect.

  God really messed up with some of her kind back on Earth, she thought darkly, catching her reflection in the foggy mirror.

  Even if any of these beings were interested in humans, they wouldn’t glance her way—not standing next to someone like Aanya, exotic and otherworldly in her own right. Sloane felt plain in comparison. Nearing thirty, still carrying a softness in her features that made her feel younger than she was. Her button nose and freckles—those she actually liked. Her eyes, though… she had a love-hate relationship with them. The shape would always tie her to her mother; the color, however, she could do without.

  But overall? She didn’t feel special. Not at all.

  And right now, she wasn’t even in the mindset to consider another person. Let alone an alien being who could just as easily kill her—or worse. Who the hell knew what was going to happen to them? Survival was all that mattered, and thinking about anything else was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

  Aanya, on the other hand, had other priorities. People coped with distress in different ways—some ran toward it, some buried it, and some sought connections, whether with other people or, in her case, with beings beyond their world.

  Sloane threw on her clothes just in time to hear a knock at the door. She pressed the panel on the wall and the door slid open with a soft hiss, a wave of steam drifting out from the bathroom into the living space.

  Aanya was already halfway to do the door by the time she came out. She opened to door to find Melora standing there with her medical bag. “Oh! I see Sloane is here,” Melora said warmly. “Is now an okay time for me to check on your leg?”

  Right—the leg. Sloane had taken the bandage off that morning and nearly forgotten about it. When she did, she was shocked to find the injury reduced to nothing more than healed-over scabs and some faint bruising.

  “Yes, that’s fine.” Sloane walked to her bed while Melora stepped inside with her signature gliding grace. She moved like she’d been trained in a lifetime of ballet. She wore a long-sleeved navy dress today, a comfortable but immaculate contrast to the white uniforms the medics usually wore.

  Melora knelt, lifted Sloane’s foot, and pressed along the injured area. Sloane winced in a few places. Melora smiled up at her. “Everything looks great. You’re on the mend. Try to take it easy for another week. And if something feels off come find me. You know where the med bay is?”

  Sloane nodded.

  “Good! Then I hope you have a lovely rest of the evening.” Melora rose, collected her bag, and moved toward the door.

  “Melora?” Sloane called after her.

  Melora paused, turning with a slight look of surprise—probably because Sloane had actually remembered her name. “Yes?”

  “Do you have any abilities besides healing?”

  “Oh! Yes.” Melora brightened. “I’m a sorceress. We use the energy of the universe. To take something, you must give something. Herbs are gifts to the Chaos—an offering that allows us to receive healing antidotes, like the one I used on your leg.”

  “But we were still on Earth,” Sloane said. “I thought abilities couldn’t work there because of the energetic density.”

  Melora shook her head gently. “I can’t use my abilities to their full extent, no. Very little can manifest. Just like the witches on your planet. They use the same minor abilities I used on the Exodus. Here, on this world, I give up my own energy to heal. I wouldn’t need herbs.”

  Sloane blinked. “So witches on Earth exist?”

  “Of course! Why do you think they burned them at the stake? That’s part of your history… yes?” Melora tilted her head. “We have witches in the Aetherion galaxies as well, though most are either in hiding or aligned with darker paths—and many of those follow Xul. I’m sure you’ve heard of him by now.”

  Sloane gave a short nod. “You know a lot about humans. And our history.”

  “Some information is common knowledge,” Melora said simply. “On a military base, we must always be prepared to receive your kind. An event like this was inevitable.”

  Sloane wasn’t in the headspace to unpack any of that, so she just nodded. Melora waited a moment to see if there were more questions. When none came, she smiled softly and stepped out.

  Aanya grabbed her shoes. “Well… that was insightful,” she said, exhaling. “I think I’ll head out for a bit, if that’s okay. If you want to join, I’ll be out on the field with the others.”

  “Thank you,” Sloane said. “I think I might close my eyes for a bit. If I feel up for it, I’ll join you.”

  Aanya smiled, sensing she meant it. Then she slipped out the door.

  Sloane crawled into bed, feeling the mattress mold to her body instantly. The blankets wrapped around her like a soft, warm hug. She turned off the lights and let the familiar, comforting shadows settle over her—shadows that had once terrified her, but lately felt more like protectors.

  They pulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep.