May 12th, 3186

The Maiorian Sanctum alit with shiny faces. Madame Quella followed a dais up to a circular podium where these faces shone even brighter upon her presence. Illian had to admit, she looked much brighter without her clear suit. Her gills fluttered at the scent of their water pools. Sweet, sweet ammonia. Illian gagged. Madame Quella looked most at home, yes. But just as well, she was the most vulnerable.

Quella muted the crowd with an inhale full of trained pleasantries. “Great people of Maiora: I welcome you to the Rayvine.” Here, she smiled. But Illian, Illian was the alien and he hated it. “I hope your travels went well. Even you, Sir Kalish.” A warm laughter filled the room.

Illian glared at her perfections, her three frills lively whisking and whisking along with her people. He lurched, braced a beam underneath the balcony dining. Something about their water features stunk; more than stunk, actually. These bright waterways juxtaposed to stairs, these pools dotting the balconies above were actively attacking his senses. He had to step out of the balcony’s shadow to the dining hall. In its miasma, the crowd sat unmoving. Illian did a quick scan of the room.

Methane levels 35.09% air quantity

Please refrain from drinking/submerging in

Subject: MAIORA WATER

Madame Quella went on: “We have long since been waiting for our earthly brothers and sisters to join us again. Why, I can all but remember their people starstruck and ignorant of our culture, yet willing to learn and do whatever it takes. Too long have they suffered, and still continue to do so without hope.” She allowed a laugh, stepped away from the podium. “Hope,” her bulb eyes then seeking out Illian.

Here we go.

“Well, I believe that hope has finally found the Sol system.”

Maiorians waved part for to Illian, Oh, no.

“Great people of Maiora: please join me in welcoming Earth’s newest Messenger!” The claps were deafening. A spotlight caught Illian and reeled him to the stage. Above the Madame a sacred idol hung by fibrous chain cords. Cupias: the God of Love. Their bulbous features refracted the water, as did the waves underneath this—thing’s belly. It was then he wondered who these people worshipped more: their god …

… or Cupias?

This thought spurred something of a rebuttal inside Illian’s chest. A warm breath escaped his nostrils: a warmness he’s felt only once before. Gaia?

He was certain. She was reaching out to the boy, or from within. Gaia spoke in Her way, that everything was going to be okay which echoed, chorded through his tonsils.

Illian sighed. He took one step up the dais: “Thank you. I’m glad you’re here.”

She agreed.

Quella’s claps softened, then ceased completely when her and the boy met face to face on even footing. She whispered, “Thank you so much for coming, Illian.” She then allowed Illian to greet the crowd, but not before catching his ear outside his periphery. “Don’t think too hard, and don’t worry about speaking Maiorian. Just say hello.” She took the boy’s hand, parting with a shimmering teal necklace. “The first of many”—she paused in reverence—“Messenger.”

Illian nodded, speaking away for only his ears to hear, “Seduce me more, Madame. I know the game you’re playing.” He took the ornate podium and cleared his throat.

Ku-ray. Ku-ray.

“Ku-ra,” Illian recited perfectly, waving. He said hello so naturally that he surprised not only himself, but some of those in attendance. Shaintro was one of these few; Illian would’ve felt more at home if him and Quella weren’t conniving liars. “My name is Illian Jones—on Earth, of course. You can refer to me as Sol, as many of you already do.” He dared to look Shaintro right in his smug face. You’re next.

Next, he stepped away from the podium, in the line of fire. As if realizing this, he produced his slate device and shielded his chest, report displayed and now glowing off his face. “Today, I’ll be sharing my experience with the deity, Gaia.” He began reading.

And so he did, skimming through everything Shaintro and him encountered, starting from his first steps back on Earth. The boy’s delivery captivated, guided his audience through the cavern to meet Gaia Herself; their bulbs perked like ascending the platform, feeling the air race against their mass. And upon the chilling Sierras, many delegates truly believed they found hope just as Illian did. Illian parted his last words, turning again to Shaintro. “We are not fighters, nor should we take part.” These words left a sting in the boy’s throat. Pull it together, dammit. It only worsened with the water’s immense stink lurching over his shoulder; now, a tear jolted, trying to escape his baby blues.

Pull. It. Together. And so Illian did, in silence, with the crowd on bated breath. Still, his mind seethed. How could you, he wanted to say. How could you, my closest friend hide things from me? Though Illian didn’t speak, Shaintro’s face fell and he ducked away to other business. It’s always other business with you …

“Illian?” Madame Quella seized his attention. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I—Yeah,” as he looked back to his device. “But with enough practice, you won’t have to.” Illian turned to leave, shutting off his slate. His heart ached. As fast as it came, a warmth swelled and silently cooed that everything will be shone in time. Illian recognized this sensation as Gaia once again, but even now he wished he could believe Her. He then stepped away-

“Illian Jones will now take your questions,” said the Madame.

“I am?!”

One regal delegate stood from their table. “Sol, is it true that the Earth is incapable of saving itself without divine intervention?”

Illian began, but ran dry of answers. “Well …”

“Are you the youngest Messenger on the station?” another said.

“I don’t know.”

Then another. “Are you prepared to save the Earth even if it meant giving your life?”

“Yes! Hold on-“

Then another less inclined to wait. “Can you confirm or deny the rumors that The Powers are being unleashed to reclaim Earth?” Illian froze in time.

The—what?

He glared at Quella. “What are they talking about-“

The Madame jumped up at once: “That’s enough, thank you all for coming.” Her smile lined with tensed tissue; she took Illian by the shoulder and ducked him away from the podium.

“But, Madame Quella. Let the boy speak!-“

The delegate was cut short by Quella’s wave. She yelled, “Sais shuramafa!” which left delegate mouths agape throughout the entire sanctum. Illian could swear that eyes were about to start popping out their gelatinous skulls. One mention of The Powers chinked Quella’s perfection; in a sense, he finally had her where he wanted. When they cleared the podium, Illian pressed again, “Madame Quella, what are you hiding from me?”

She decried, “Hiding from you, Jones?” Her disgust bubbled and slushed near her lips. “The nerve!”

“I’m not buying it!” Illian shoved off her grip and repeated, “What are you hiding?” Their stares cut air and just as easily cauterized the wound. She remained silent. “Talk to me. Please!”

But, she did not. “Leave, Illian.” Illian caught her quavering voice, the very same he heard strike through his door. Unmistakable. She begged again, “Leave. There is nothing to discuss.” It was too late. Illian could tell she was lying, and it surged through her like a poison. Behind her, Shaintro encroached. He turned to Illian, shook his head as silent as Quella.

“Madame,” said Shaintro. “We must leave.” Illian felt the weight of their authority, their sworn to secrecy tug and tug in his gut when they made their escape.

“Fine,” the boy surrendered. Earth’s Messenger then walked away, a teal necklace hanging from his grasp.