They dropped the beam on the Heart-Tree like it was nothing—like it wasn’t the soul of a people, the pulse of an entire world. One minute I was standing in sacred silence, the next I was choking on the light of betrayal. The Lumina knelt in worship. I stood frozen in horror.
My brother used my life’s work—my trust—to crack a world open without firing a shot. No bombs. No blood. Just a lie big enough to blind an entire species.
They came smiling, holding out empty hands while the knives stayed hidden. But he forgot one thing: I was watching. I was listening. And I was learning how to lie.
He thinks he won. He doesn’t know what’s coming. But it’s already here—woven into vines, whispered in songs, hidden in smiles. And it’s going to burn everything he built to the ground.
The Peacemaker: A World of Light
The air in the Glimmerwood always tasted sweet, like damp soil and blooming moonpetals. For thirty years, it had been the only air I breathed. My lungs, once accustomed to the recycled, metallic tang of Earth-side cities, now felt most at home here, under the gentle, pulsing glow of the forest. I traced the bark of a Heart-Tree, its surface smooth as worn stone, its inner light shifting from soft blue to warm lavender in time with my own slow heartbeat. The Lumina said the trees listened. After three decades, I believed them.
My name is Dr. Aris Thorne, and I was, for all intents and purposes, a member of the tribe. My skin bore the same swirled, silvery markings as Elder Kael, painted on with sap that bonded to your cells. My clothes were woven from the supple inner fibers of the Glimmerwood’s roots. I had left Earth at twenty-five, a bright-eyed xenolinguist on fire with the promise of first contact. I was fifty-five now. My husband, Ben, had passed away ten years ago from a sudden illness, and our daughter, Maya, was a grown woman with a life of her own, a face I mostly knew from delayed video messages. Here, on Xylos, my family was the Lumina.
They were a people of profound peace, a species without a single word for war, for deceit, for betrayal. Their entire culture was a quiet symphony of respect for their world. My life’s work, my entire existence, was dedicated to proving to the people I’d left behind that humanity could meet them without breaking them. For thirty years, I sent reams of data, terabytes of linguistic models, cultural analyses, and personal pleas back to the Interstellar Contact Initiative, funded by the corporate behemoth Omni-Corp. Peacefully, I’d begged in every report. Come in peace. They don’t understand anything else.
A chime from my wrist-comm startled me from my thoughts. It was a priority alert from my brother. My only real connection to the powers that be. A shiver of something—hope, or maybe dread—ran down my spine. After all this time, something was about to change.
A Brother’s Promise
“Ari! You’re not going to believe this.”
Julian’s face materialized on the holographic display, beaming, impossibly handsome in his crisp, black Omni-Corp contractor uniform. He looked just like our father did at that age. All confidence and easy smiles. Behind him, the cold, sterile bridge of a starship gleamed.
“What is it, Jules?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“It’s happening,” he said, his voice ringing with triumph. “The board approved it. Everything you’ve been working for. We’re coming.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Coming? What do you mean, coming?”
“A diplomatic convoy, sis. First contact. All thanks to your work. They’re calling you the ‘Rosetta Stone of Xylos.’ The brass is eating it up.” He leaned closer to the camera, his expression softening. “We’re going to do this the right way, Ari. For Mom and Dad. We’ll make them proud. We’re making history.”
That was Julian’s go-to line. For Mom and Dad. Our parents had been explorers, too, lost in a wormhole accident when I was nineteen. Julian had gone military, then private, climbing the corporate ladder with a ruthless efficiency I could never muster. He always said he was building the power to protect dreamers like me. I had to believe him. He was all I had left of that life.
“The Lumina… they have to be prepared, Jules. It has to be slow. It has to be on their terms.”
“Of course,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve read your reports. I know the protocols. I’ll be running point on this end. It will be perfect. Just get the elders ready. Tell them… tell them friends are coming. Tell them your people are finally ready to say hello.”
The transmission ended, leaving me in the sudden silence of the Glimmerwood. Friends are coming. My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild drumbeat of joy and terror. I had spent my life waiting for this moment. I just prayed Julian was right. I prayed it would be perfect.
The Data Stream
My work was my life. Every day for thirty years, I documented the Lumina. Not just their language, a complex melody of clicks, whistles, and resonating hums, but their very soul. I recorded their songs, their rituals, their laws—all of which were rooted in a single, profound concept: harmony with the Glimmerwood.
I sent it all back. The high-resolution scans of their art, woven into tapestries that told the history of their world. The recordings of their council meetings, where disputes were settled not by argument, but by finding the most harmonious path forward. My reports were exhaustive, leaving no detail to the imagination. I wanted Omni-Corp to see the Lumina as I saw them: a fragile, beautiful culture that needed to be protected, not a resource to be exploited.
The most critical data, the information I had stressed was purely spiritual, was their core belief. The Lumina worshipped the light of the Glimmerwood. It was their creator, their guide, their god. And their most sacred tradition, a story passed down for a thousand generations, was that of the ‘Great Light.’ The prophecies said that one day, a light greater than the Glimmerwood itself would appear in the sky. When it did, it was not to be feared. It was to be welcomed. It was a sign that the universe was embracing them, and their tradition demanded they surrender to its wisdom, to yield peacefully and without question.
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